


Hallucination of Rain

by Kaysieva



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Blood Kink, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 34
Words: 80,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26981335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaysieva/pseuds/Kaysieva
Summary: It never stopped raining in Charles' spiritual world.
Relationships: Alex Marquez & Marc Marquez, Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, Jules Bianchi & Charles Leclerc, Kimi Räikkönen/Sebastian Vettel, Lewis Hamilton/Nico Rosberg
Comments: 9
Kudos: 60





	1. Firing Pin

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Hallucination of Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814992) by [Prephilo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prephilo/pseuds/Prephilo). 



Max has detected the new Sentinel. With Daniel's help, he slowly spreads out the tendrils of his awareness like a ball of holiday ribbons. They come loose over the training center, falling to its roofs, its walls, its grounds and sewers. He feels the texture of everything they come into contact with, as well as the subtle humming of the maze of pipes underneath. The threads of his awareness eventually bump into an invisible fence: the barrier that surrounds the training center and protects the senses of its Sentinels. To Max, it feels like a giant ball of slime. 

He then begins to construct a complete image. Max knows what he is doing; he is the most gifted of the younger generation. He has received the best mentorship, along with the best opportunities. Daniel is more than a powerful Sentinel -- he is also a patient and persuasive Guide, who knows how to direct Max's tumultuous thoughts to cope with the burden of possessing these superhuman senses. 

"Be on the lookout for markers, Max. I know you could throw your awareness all the way to the coastline in under five minutes if you wanted, but your task is to locate, not show off."

Easygoing and fun as Daniel usually is, he never goes easy on Max. Max rather enjoys this contrast, knowing that it is good for him. They are the most elite geniuses among Sentinels, Militaires Sans Frontieres licensed to kill. For that, they had to undergo brutal training -- in all the skills mandatory for Special Forces, as well as the control and usage of their superhuman senses. 

Had they not made it through the training, one of two fates would have awaited them: going on medications to suppress their overly heightened senses and try to pass for normal people, or losing it completely and living out the rest of their lives in a sanatorium. 

The Militaires Sans Frontieres do not conceal themselves. They accept only one kind of mission: rescues. Max would not call himself a savior, but he does relish the satisfaction of receiving honors and accolades. He once breached a hundred-kilometer-long blockade to locate a hostage in a jungle, in pouring rain, all by himself. He was but nineteen. When he showed up intact with the hostage in front of the team, everyone was profoundly shocked by his recklessness and grit, Daniel included. The downpour is not only a true test of physical abilities, but also extremely taxing on a Sentinel's senses: the sounds, the wetness, and the general lack of visibility. And yet, Max pulled it off. There is no logical explanation. Everyone eventually just accepted that it’s something that Max Verstappen is simply capable of. 

He quickly gets the hang of things this time, as always. He codes the objects he senses with different colors. The moving blobs of light are the people walking within the training center walls. The Sentinels conjure up spiritual barriers without conscious effort, which make them shine with the brilliance of jewels. The normal people appear as dim pebbles, ones that Max could easily crush. 

He wouldn't, though. He has never attempted to destroy anyone mentally, even though Militaires Sans Frontieres missions can and do involve interrogations. Max has his principles. He would never attack an opponent who cannot fight back, and entering someone else's spiritual world would basically mean that they are an open city. Other people also know better than forcing Max into doing something he despises. Horner wouldn't risk losing Max, and the Committee behind the MSF already see him as their next poster child for recruitment purposes. They tolerate his quirks, especially ones that make good headlines. 

There is one other reason, though. To destroy someone on a spiritual level, the aggressor must conjure up their worst memories and engulf their target in a hellfire of pain. While this would be right up the alley of some sociopathic freaks, Max is not one of them, nor does he possess memories horrific enough to beat the living daylights out of others. He is but a gifted boy, at least in front of his Guide and teammates. Someone would always be there to catch his fall. He knows his luck, and is grateful for it. 

In his multicolored world, Max sees a resplendent spiritual palace, dazzling with the glitter of tortoiseshell and gold. He knows immediately that he has run into Lewis Hamilton, whose barrier deflects Max's tendrils with an air of superiority, like a formidable beast asserting its territory and warning youngsters to stay away. Lewis is powerful and stable, but to the most perceptive Sentinels, it is clear that he will never be a Guide. Part of the reason is that he just doesn't want to accept someone less mentally stable than he is. But more importantly, the Brit's world is filled with relentless fire and hunger. The magnificent enclosure he built for his own consciousness did nothing to change the instincts of the beast within. 

Max retreats immediately, not wanting to confront Lewis' black panther outside of training. He then runs into a swordfish slicing though air -- Kvyat's spirit animal, who happens to be on a break. Max quietly gets out of the way, although he might have opted to rile up Kvyat a little on his break if Daniel wasn't watching. Pierre Gasly's fawn lies in the shadows of the corridor, its ears twitching at Max's approach. Max decides against letting his lion terrorize the herbivore. 

"Stay low, Max," reminds Daniel in a hushed voice, "the hostile Sentinels would have spotted you if this were a mission."

So Max does, reeling in his tendrils and clearing the crowd like a gliding bird, marking the location and defense level of every Sentinel. The image becomes layered and clear, with color-coded blobs tracking the movement of each individual. Max quickly clicks away at the screen, marking the 2D maps. 

His tendrils arrive at the plaza, where many powerful Sentinels have gathered. They are difficult to identify based on the mental image alone, and Max can only conclude that they are all veterans. They shine with such brilliance that Max almost overlooks a tiny ray of light among them. He stops in his tracks. Daniel, who accompanies him in spirit, is looking in the same direction. 

This has to be a young Sentinel, no older than Max. He makes Max think of morning dew and gossamer mist, as well as moist, green grass. Moss, rock, decaying wood. They are somehow familiar to him like a dream, as if he has seen them before. His lion can't help but reach out with its claws, trying to seize a fairy so transparent that the sun can evaporate it at any second. 

A sharp pain immediately pierces Max's consciousness. He instantly withdraws all of his senses, two matching rows of teeth marks having appeared on the palm and back of his right hand. Had the bite been real, Max would probably be looking at Daniel's face through the gaping hole in his own hand. 

"Damn it! That bastard just unleashed his spirit animal on me!"

"It's not serious, Max," says Daniel as he examines Max's hand, shaking his head. "You scared him, too. He's a very alert Sentinel, very wary. I don't blame him, he's surrounded on all sides by powerful veterans. Of course he's on edge. The fact that you made it past these veterans' defenses is proof that you aced the stealth game. That's how you managed to spook that kid in the first place."

"Looks like a cat of some sort," Max looks down at his hand and waits for the phantom pain to recede, “pretty aggressive for its size."

"Black-footed cat," says Daniel. "I happen to know someone with that for a spirit animal. But surely it can't be him..."

After a moment of thought, Daniel pulls Max to his feet. 

"You're going to confront that brat?" Max asks.

"Just to see if he's the one I know. Also, if you get yourself in trouble, I'm telling Christian."

"Oh, give me a break!" yells Max, “you're just jealous that I stole all the spotlight!"

"Max," Daniel looks more amused than annoyed. "First of all, I'm better-looking. Second of all, I'm more popular. Finally, I'm also a Guide. Do you really think that I'd be jealous over you stealing the spotlight?"

"I'm better-looking, though!" Max tries, but Daniel flat out disregards him. No matter what, he silently decides, he's going to show that biting bastard that he can give as good as he gets. 


	2. String of Destiny

Hopefully this new Sentinel is not that kid he knows. 

Daniel thinks, but also quickly realizes that if it is the boy he knows, the kid would have been destined for exactly this place. 

To Daniel, destiny is an enormous palace, solemn and empty. So he chooses to joke his way through its absurd joys and sorrows, laughing it all off in the end. 

He does not know how else to live. As a Sentinel, he was born with overly heightened senses. Among Sentinels, he also happens to be the most sensitive and empathetic type. It's what made him a Guide. It's also the reason that he has long since opted out of getting involved in the lives of others. 

All comedies end in tragedy. At least he'll keep laughing while the act lasts, the merriest clown on its stage. 

The boy stands at the center of the plaza, ready to take the final entrance exam for joining the Militaires Sans Frontieres. 

_Oh, look how tall Charles has grown_. Daniel suddenly wants to laugh. Next to him, Max's spirit animal anxiously paws the ground. He duly provides some comfort to his junior and partner. 

_Jules, you should see this. Charles is standing here, just like we used to_. 

“Is he the one you know?” Max is not about to acquiesce, but he also does not want to outright defy Daniel. A Guide’s comfort is like cocaine to a Sentinel. 

“Unfortunately, yes.”

He says, rueful. Max fails to catch the significance of these words. 

“How do you know him?”

“He’s the godson of a friend.”

“No wonder you’re in his corner,” says Max, sounding bitter. 

“He lost his Guide,” says Daniel. “It’s a serious thing. His Guide was killed in action a few years back.”

Max falls quiet. All Sentinels know how immensely painful it is to lose connection to their Guide. The longer and more intimate the companionship, the more traumatizing the separation. Among the first tier of soldiers to which they belonged, there is one Sentinel who has lost his Guide. Although he is the most powerful of them all, they all chose not to expose his act — that the real reason for his veganism has nothing to do with lifestyle choices. Strong tastes and odors just became too much for him after losing his Guide. He may have erected a spiritual fortress seemingly impenetrable to all, but there is one person who has always easily demolished every single thing he worked hard to build. 

The Guide-less Lewis arrives at the edge of the plaza with his dazzling fortress, inspecting the latest crop of youngsters. Charles looks somewhat ill at ease. Although he is smiling, everything about him seems fragile and tense, like a cat hiding under the dew-laden shrub, ready to bolt into the darkness in a split second. 

“He won’t last long,” estimates Max. “His aggression stems from fear. He won’t make a good soldier. He’s also not mentally stable enough to stay on as support crew. Of course, he’s not going to be a Guide, either. No one can stand being around him.”

“Is that how you see Charles?”

“Now that I know his name, yes,” says Max, folding his arms. “I do hope that he proves a pleasant surprise, of course, since he just bit my spirit animal and all. If he’s too weak, it’ll make me look bad. But I suppose he can’t be that awful, given that he made it all the way here despite his Guide being killed.”

“Charles is resilient,” says Daniel. Truth be told, He wishes Charles weren’t as resilient as he is. Of course, he has no way of knowing what Jules would have made of all of this. Destiny has once again placed him on this absurd stage. Max is now deeply entranced by this young and apparently easily spooked Sentinel. The lion shakes its mane, sniffing the dust in the air. The eyes of the black-footed cat suddenly light up. They have noticed each other. 

Daniel feels it, too. 

Charles looks calm, the same tired and misty expression on his face, reporting materials clutched in his hands. His gaze meets Max’s. Max narrows his eyes and decides quickly before Daniel can stop him. He walks over to the marshal in charge of supervising the selection and reporting to the Committee, and makes his request in the most Max fashion possible. 

“Sir,” salutes Max, “has the free sparring begun?”

“Not yet,” smiles Will Buxton as he looks up from in front of the monitor. Daniel knows that Max is probably going to get his way. 

“May I spar with this new recruit?”

“I need to run this by Charlie and the other senior folks, but on behalf of the Committee, I have no objection,” Buxton crosses his fingers. “I hope you have a great show in store for us, Max.”

The sparring partners are usually drawn from the retired first-tier veterans. They know when to pull their punches, and are better at assessing the new recruits’ strengths and weaknesses. Buxton, however, seems confident in both Charles and Max. The veterans do not fret over the youngster stealing their spotlight, and Buxton manages to persuade silver-haired Charlie within minutes. 

“Max, you need to promise not to try anything overly aggressive on Charles Leclerc. That is Charlie’s ask.”

“I promise,” says Max. He may be a troublemaker, but he harbors no ill intentions most of the time. The selection team proceed to broadcast who Charles’ opponent is to be. Max and Daniel’s teammates flock to the location in their deep blue armbands, clamoring and cheering for Max. Charles has only a few teammates looking out for him, all of whom in red armbands except Charles himself. 

“Hey, Max,” says Gianpiero, patting Max on the shoulder and giving him a thumb up. “Careful, you don’t want to make the girl cry.”

Max laughs out loud. “Of course not! He could be tougher than he looks, though. Don’t underestimate your opponent.”

Daniel does not know what he is expecting from this matchup: Jules’ godson against the teammate and partner he’s always cared about. He realizes that Max is not the type to fall into a slump from one defeat or two. Neither is Charles, he reckons. Yet he cannot manage to shake his feeling of unease, as if the strings of fate are wrapped around him. He does not want to be involved. This is why, even though he is Max’s Guide, he still won’t invite Max into his spiritual world. 

He is always just passing by. It makes him feel safe. Comfortable. Free. 

The honey badger stands itself upright, spreading its consciousness around the two contestants. He notices that many spectating Sentinels are doing the same, likely more out of curiosity than concern. As a polite gesture, both Max and Charles have released their spirit animals to greet each other. The juxtaposition of the lion and the cat is somewhat comical. Even though the lion does not mean to intimidate, Daniel is not surprised to see the black-footed cat’s ears turned back and flattened parallel to its head. It does not appear remorseful in the slightest for biting the lion earlier. 

“The contest will consist of three rounds. Each round will last three minutes. If one contestant can no longer fight or admits defeat, the other party will be declared winner. If no winner is declared in this way, we will use a scoring system,” explains Hill to the two Sentinels and spectators. He and two other veterans are refereeing. “You may use the weapons provided to you, the styrofoam knives, that is. We do not want you injured outside of combat. Blows to critical or life-threatening areas are strictly forbidden, especially to the thing that we all have. It’s not a bar fight, lads. David, Martin and I will be watching you. You earn 3 points for hitting your opponent on the chest, 2 points for abdomen, 1 point for limbs. Of course, I think you know all this already, but it never hurts to reiterate. Good luck.”

With that, Hill takes his spot on one side of the circle, as David Coulthard and Martin Brundle take up spots equidistant from each other, red and blue refereeing flags in hand. 

“Gentlemen, mind your own pets and tails,” Hill raises his voice, “we’ll watch these two.”

The Sentinels retrieve their spirit animals and put away their tendrils. Daniel has no choice but to call his honey badger back. Both Max and Charles stand with their hands down in relatively relaxed postures, but to Daniel, it is clear that their consciousness are already engaged in the first round of battle. 

_God_ , thinks Daniel. _Forgive me, Jules, but I really hope that Max wins this_. 


	3. Insane Dream

First, you pile up pressure on your opponent to overwhelm them. Max unleashes his immense aura in an attempt to intimidate Charles. It is his go-to opening move. Charles, for his part, does not try to evade him or enhance his own barrier. He simply floats his own consciousness softly in front of Max like a jellyfish; no matter how hard Max tries to capture it, it keeps slipping away through his fingers. 

Max is beginning to see why Charles made it through all those rounds of selection. Having learned that intimidation does not work, he decides to try his luck with the newbie’s seemingly nonexistent defenses. As soon as the intent to attack forms in Max’s head, tendrils attached to Max alert Charles to assume the appropriate defensive posture. 

To the spectators, neither has so much as lifted a finger. In Sentinel combat, all it takes to betray one’s strategic intent is the slightest variation in electric potential at the twitch of a muscle, or a few minuscule molecules released from changing hormone levels. However, it is an exceedingly rare Sentinel whose powers to detect and react are keen enough to border on prescience. Max knows that he can no longer afford to underestimate his opponent. He now thoroughly understands that the Sentinel in front of him is a fierce predator, of the same caliber as him. 

He opts for caution, something he rarely does. Max finds it hard to read his opponent. Under normal circumstances, he would be charging forward with little thought for consequences. This time, though, he wants to prove himself in front of Daniel. The tendrils of the two Sentinels intertwine in all the three feet of space available to them. In the world of consciousness, they’ve traded a thousand blows and change; in reality, time elapses as slowly and evenly as ever. 

“Your time is up for the first round,” announces Hill, crossing his two flags. The other two referees signal the same. “It’s a draw.”

“Impressive. Too bad that only us geezers can appreciate it,” laughs Coulthard.

Hands at his back, Hill makes a stern face at the two youngsters. “I know you two can keep doing this for a century, but I haven’t got a century left to live.”

“Hey!” Brundle points his flag at Hill, “mind your language. No one mentions ‘old’ in front of me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Chill, mate,” Coulthard has no choice but to step in between the two older veterans. “I think Max and Charles know what they need to do.”

Max apologizes half-heartedly for wasting the referees’ time. Charles just stands at attention and salutes with him. _Are you mute?_ Max complains under his breath, but Charles simply resumes his spot on the diagonal with the same heavy-eyed expression. The black-footed cat reveals its round face next to Charles’ neck, ears pricked forward, pupils dilating suddenly. 

Max bares his fangs on purpose, trying to spook the kitty. Charles’ cat widens its mouth to issue a vicious hiss before disappearing behind Charles’ back. 

“Second round, three minutes. Start!”

Max changes tactic, erecting a solid spiritual barrier around himself to fend off Charles’ probing. His defensive style is unyielding like a high-voltage fence, often to the point of severely stressing out other Sentinels’ senses. Charles soon discovers that fact for himself. Max watches with satisfaction as the new recruit’s brows furrow in frustration. Then, pulling out his knife, he lunges at Charles. 

The attack misses. While the spiritual barrier fends off the probing of others, it also prevents him from using his own tendrils to gather information. So Max injects all his focus into maximizing his senses. Vision, hearing, smell, touch — absorbing as much as he possibly can, he lets his brain process the sensory information and arrive at the best next move. Charles adopts a different tactic. As he evades Max’s attacks, he maximizes the coverage of his tendrils around Max, in the air and on the ground, collecting every iota of useful information: air currents, vibrations, even fluctuating carbon dioxide levels. 

The contest has been elevated from an examination to a show. Even the three referees are looking nervous now. The human capability to process information is limited. In a normal person, short-term memories last only seconds, and for good reason: to allow the brain to focus on more meaningful content. Sentinels are different. To deal with the large volume of information received by their heightened senses, their brains have had to evolve correspondingly fast processing functions and larger temporary storage areas. But it does not mean that they can spread their tendrils infinitely, like Max and Charles are doing now. 

The first one to reach his limit or show any vulnerability loses. The veterans wouldn’t do this to a newbie, because their overwhelming advantage in experience makes them better at filtering out information that doesn’t matter. If this were actual combat, these tactics would accomplish little other than serving as focus training. To them, what Max and Charles are doing is nothing more than youthful recklessness. 

_Charles is vulnerable everywhere_ , thinks Max. _This noob is so focused on me that he has barely any awareness left to protect himself with_. The victory does not have to be physical. It can be spiritual, crushing the opponent mentally with the precision of a mallet striking the pointed end of an egg. 

Especially over a sensitive and powerful Sentinel like this, with a traumatic past and an air of grief in tow. 

_Daniel may have to regret letting me in on the secret_ , thinks Max. But that is none of his concern right now. He will take care to not outright crush Charles. All he needs is a bit of a distraction, enough to create an opening to defeat his opponent. He has never done anything like this before. With adrenaline coursing his veins, however, all principles are cast aside. He just wants to beat Charles, and hear him admit that he is a coward with no inner strength to match his appearances.

First, he needs to summon his own emotions. He searches himself for a memory that most resembles the pain of loss. For him, it’s probably when Ocon’s obstruction had cost him his rescue mission. Though he heard later that Lewis had managed to extract the trapped civilians in his stead, he still recalls the despair he felt when the shelter had blown up right in front of him. He never realized that he had placed this memory so far to the fore that he is able to retrieve it with little effort. But he must not dwell. He needs to carry this emotion with him as he dives into Charles’ spiritual world. 

The second round also ends in a draw, with the point tally even. The referees are considerate enough to allow them a break, although contact with non-contestants is forbidden. So Max tries starting a conversation with Charles. 

“Daniel told me about you. You know Daniel?”

Charles is adjusting his combat gloves. He lifts his gaze as he hears Max, who discovers that he has moist, sage-green eyes shrouded in a layer of mist. Their exact color varies with the angle of the light. 

“Which Daniel?”

 _So that’s what he sounds like_ , thinks Max. He points to Daniel in the audience.

“Him.”

“Oh,” Max sees confusion on Charles’ face. It seems to take him some time to summon his memories. Unfitting, really, for a Sentinel as sharp as he is. “I knew him when I was very little. He didn’t have a beard back then.”

“He’s my Guide. I thought you knew him like, well.”

“Not any better than you know him,” says Charles evenly, as he resumes his starting position. Max knows that Charles’ mood has changed. Perhaps because he has been spreading his consciousness to its limit, Charles does not appear to have any spiritual defenses put up; Max dials in to an emotion of a similar wavelength without much effort.

He smells rain. Not a soft, drizzling spring rain, but a downpour fermenting within storm clouds, a deluge threatening to undo it all. He thinks of the forty-odd hours he spent alone trudging forward in the Amazonian jungle, with nothing but rain, rain, rain for company. The sounds of the downpour pounding on broad leaves, rainwater running off into creeks, and army boots sinking into deep mud. Rivulets of rain weaving themselves into a curtain in front of his helmet’s visor. Heaven and Earth feel upside down, and he is alone in the whole world.

 _Where are you?_ Max shouts wordlessly, his voice refusing to carry in the downpour. _I’m here to get you out. It’s what I do. It’s what I was born to do._

_No, no, no. You were not born to save anyone. You are not the Messiah, Max._

_Let me help you._ Max puts his gun on his back, opening up his arms to the hostage drenched in rain and mud. _I’m here for you._

 _You’re here for yourself,_ the voice says ruthlessly. _You were born to destroy. You’re a crazy war criminal._

As the hostage stands up, the crust of mud shatters like a mask, revealing a face most familiar to Max — and one that he was least looking forward to see. 

Jos Verstappen.

An insuppressible mixture of rage and fear erupts from within Max. Jos has the eyes of a cat, which he trains on Max as if tracking prey. 

“I’m not…”

Before he can finish, Max senses a heavy blow to his abdomen, followed by another to his nose. He now lies face down on the hot ground, blood from his nose mixing freely with the dirt, turning it into icky mud. 

“You lose.”

He hears Charles’ nonchalant voice and tightens his fists in regret. The smell of rain lingers around Charles. 


	4. Border Line

Damon Hill once saw for himself the spiritual torture a Guide had to go through after losing his partner. It’s already thirty years in the past now. Even after going to different teams, Berger maintained his intimate connection to Senna as a Guide. The good-natured and fun Austrian was eventually able to put his trauma in the past, though not everyone is that fortunate. 

Not to mention that Charles was barely seventeen when it all happened to him. Temporary Guides are simply not the same as one you really bond with. Though it is possible to receive some measure of comfort from any Sentinel with Guiding abilities, only the one you call your very own is capable of unearthing the darkest, most powerful forces deep within you, and showing you how to conquer and wield them as a weapon. 

Yet Charles has turned his grief over losing his Guide into a weapon. Hill knows that anyone who has heard Charles’ story views the boy in a different light, he himself included. Like Max, he has been deceived by Charles’ vulnerable looks, as well as his own incomplete perception of Charles’ trauma. They both forgot that the black-footed is the most successful hunter among cats. Never would he have expected a young Sentinel cared for by temporary Guides to be so proficient in launching spiritual attacks — not to mention that Charles’ opponent today happens to be Max, who has zero experience in that aspect. 

He can’t even bring himself to praise Charles. This is way too dangerous, something he would never advise any Sentinel to try. A Sentinel’s spiritual world is as precarious as an elephant walking a tight rope. Entering someone else’s is like forcing two elephants to tread the same piece of rope. Malignant probing can easily compromise the balance of these spiritual worlds. Sentinels must maintain the integrity of their boundaries, unless they wish to be buried in an unending ocean of sensory information, their own consciousness drowning within. 

The moment he registers the attack, Hill unleashes his own spirit animal almost without realizing it. He knows that in the split second it took him to react, Charles has already accomplished the invasion and destruction he set out to do to Max’s spiritual world. But he has to stop Charles from acting any further, both physically and mentally. The white stag intercepts Charles in his tracks. The boy hesitates and steps back. The black-footed cat grabs onto Charles’ unruly hair, staring Hill’s stag down with its round eyes. 

“Enough,” Hill calls out to Charles via his spirit animal, “you can’t do that to a teammate.”

“Sorry,” says Charles, “I wanted to beat him so badly…”

“It’s not something you should be doing to yourself, either,” Hill walks up to the two boys and tells Charles in his own voice. A honey badger quickly runs to Max, rubbing the injured boy’s head against its own. 

“Thank you, Daniel…” Max slowly sits up from the ground. Half of his face is covered in dirt and traces of blood. “Fuck, how could you do that?” he glares at Charles. “You baited me with your own pain!”

“This is how I fight,” says Charles. “Pain is the most powerful emotion I have.”

“You’re destroying your own spirit. How did they let you pass all those tests? You’re basically a human bomb. You’ll be the end of yourself.”

“I guess they have use for a soldier like that.”

Charles sounds as insincere and even as ever. He also does not hesitate to point out the hole in Max’s logic. 

“You were the one who tried the spiritual attack first, Max. I left the door slightly open, and you thought you could force your whole leg in.”

“I…!”

“Pipe down, lads,” says Hill with his own voice and his spirit animal’s at the same time. The bickering pair reluctantly stop. “You two, come with me. I’m not letting Mattia or Christian take either of you home until we’ve talked this over.”

“I need Daniel,” Max poutily asserts his right. 

“You can bring the honey badger, but not Daniel.” Hill reckons that he can let Max have this one. He doesn’t expect Max to shoot a boasting look at Charles after getting his way, the latter snorting in response, unimpressed. 

Hill feels his headache worsen.

  
Charles is aching, too. He has been all this time, to the point that pain has become as natural and inherent as breathing. He was a fortunate child, having had a Guide with him since first discovering his Sentinel abilities. He was also an unfortunate child, having prematurely lost too many that were irreplaceable to him. 

_Jules_ , he calls out to the deceased at prayer. _I cherish all that you gave me, including the pain itself._

He recognized Daniel and Max as soon as he saw them. Charles’ memories are reliable, but he always seems slow in retrieving them because his subconscious resists it. Daniel was an affable man. Empathetic, gentle, courteous, just like Jules. The biggest difference was that Daniel always seemed somewhat distant, as if all his smiles and humor served but as a clever disguise. 

_Daniel must be lonely_ , Charles used to think back when he was little. He thinks more or less the same now. Despite that, he was seized by a strange surge of emotion when he heard Max talk about Daniel in that tone of trust and reliance. 

_Okay, so this is what envy feels like_ , thought Charles somewhat bitterly. He had met Max even earlier, but he did not know if Max recalled the same memories from many years ago. 

_Hypocrite_. Charles injected his envy and anger into Max’s spiritual world. _I hate you. Stop feeling sorry for me like you’re looking at someone weaker, you arrogant fuck._

His plan was to not push it too far, but Max’s self-centered probing had made him feel like some proper disciplining was in order. _You are not in enough pain, Max, not nearly enough. There is no way that you’re going to mentally destroy anyone with that._

“It’s raining,” Charles’ thoughts are interrupted as Max blurts out of nowhere. They are seated in a softly-lit break room, a tourism documentary playing on the screen. 

“In your spiritual world. It’s raining,” repeats Max as he sees Charles’ perplexed expression. “I can smell the rain from a kilometer away.”

Charles has no idea what to say to that. An awkward silence falls.

“I thought you’d be more talkative,” says Max, brows furrowed. They are waiting for the selection team to come to a conclusion. 

“It’s just a bit awkward,” replies Charles, truthful, “to be sitting next to someone you just injured. I went too far.”

“It happens. I’d rather get injured in training than in combat.” Max brushes it off, spreading out his palms. “It’s true that I don’t have much experience dealing with spiritual invasions.”

“I think I have a lot to learn from you, too.” The sentiment is sincere. After all, Max is already famous, while Charles is but an untested recruit that few care about. 

“Are there side effects? From doing what you just did, I mean. I thought it was highly risky to leave your spiritual world wide open like that.”

“Not if you’re used to it.” Strangely, even though all kinds of feelings are still roiling in his chest, he does not feel threatened as he answers Max’s questions to keep the conversation going. In fact, he feels momentarily relieved. “My Guide once said that an open spiritual world is a risk, but it also makes you more adaptable, with more room for growth. Having high spiritual barriers is a strategic choice, as is keeping yourself open. They both come with their own risks and rewards.”

“I’m sorry. --Should I not have said that?” For a moment, Max seems flustered, which Charles does not think is necessary. Max goes on to clarify himself, “I meant no offense.”

“Jules passed away. I’ve long since accepted that.”

“Must be a terrible memory.”

“I can live with it.”

“I guess that’s one way.”

They fall silent again. The honey badger circles at Max’s feet, looking up at Charles. The black-footed cat pokes its head out from next to Charles’ feet, a sign that Charles’ subconscious is letting down its guard in the presence of a Guide. 

_You could let me in for a bit_ , suggests Daniel’s spirit animal. The cat simply sits tight, keeping a safe distance. 

_You are Max’s Guide._

_I can help you. Think of it as me returning Jules’ favor._

_Thanks, but you really don’t have to feel guilty about anything. Neither he nor I have ever blamed anyone but the bastard who pulled the trigger, and the terrorists who started the war._

_I want you to live safe and sound._

_Jules didn’t teach me to hide behind you and enjoy the peace that others paid for with their blood._

_You’re so much like him._

_Thank you, Daniel._

_You know you can rely on me._

Charles does not want to respond further. He’ll rely on no one but himself. The methods he came up with have now proven effective. Having made it here to the training center for first-tier soldiers is the best answer he could have given. It is no longer possible for him to accept another Guide. But he has never felt lonely, Jules and his father both living within him. He is not in this alone. 

The door of the break room is suddenly pushed open. Hill walks in with the final report, a serious expression on his face. 

“Charles, I have bad news.”

Charles tries to not look disappointed.

“You passed the final test. All the additional mental assessments came out satisfactory. Given your conversations with Max, the selection team finds your actions acceptable. You’re officially part of the mad zoo now.”


	5. Storm Is Coming

“Seb, I hope you can understand our decision.” Mattia looks at the German from behind his desk. “It isn’t easy to part ways with a long-time bonded partner, but you and Kimi are still going to be on the same team. You can see each other any time you want.”

“I understand. But it may not be the best option for Kimi.” Sebastian feels a tingling pain in his fingers. His squirrel climbs up a desk leg to clamber onto the team principal’s sleeve. It surveys its surroundings from its vantage point on Mattia’s head, then vaults itself into the air. Grabbing onto the chandelier, it does a few circles before returning to his side. Mattia remains oblivious throughout, and Seb is more than happy to vent his frustrations through these antics. 

“Alcoholic drinks will be rationed, in case you’re worried about that.”

“He needs me, just like I need him.”

“Charles is young and powerful. He needs an experienced partner to show him the ropes, and he needs someone with Guiding abilities to help him balance. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed with him come actual combat. You should have seen how he beat Verstappen.”

Seb’s spirit animal cocks up its tail, hairs bristling. It paces restlessly around his shoulders. 

“And that’s why you abandoned Kimi, after he gave you all of his best years and more.” Seb is surprised at how calm he sounds while saying this. Maybe it’s because he’s just not that rising young phenom winning everything in his sight any more. He dislikes the taste of compromise. 

“Nobody abandoned him. We just helped him find something more suitable.” 

Sebastian knows that it’s pointless to argue. The decision is made, and Mattia is merely relaying it. He detests the team principal’s hypocritical posture, but he quickly convinces himself to accept the reality. _I still love what I do_ , he thinks. _I’m saving lives. This is the most meaningful work I know. I’m thankful for my gift. I’m a Sentinel, and I’m also a decent Guide._

Kimi is going to be fine. They’re not going to lose each other — they will just no longer be spending all of their time together. He wants to leave, but Mattia stops him.

“Do you recall why Guides registered outside of the army have to obey the Academy's code of professional conduct if they wish to practice Guiding?”

“Which specific item do you want to talk about?” Seb is annoyed, but he is not about to lash out at the team principal. 

“A professional Guide is prohibited from entering a relationship more intimate than is necessary for counseling purposes with their client.”

“I’m not a Sentinel shrink.”

“The Committee does not prohibit it because stronger trust between a Guide and a Sentinel enhances the performance of both in battle. If, however, such a relationship is to prove an impediment, we’ll have to mitigate the risk. Guides are in short supply, after all.”

 _Great. So that’s all us Sentinels are to you_. Sebastian does not say another word. He salutes the team principal and exits the office with every last bit of politeness he can manage. As soon as he leaves the building and its shielding barriers, he senses something that no Sentinel can possibly miss. 

The black panther growls as a friendly greeting. Lewis folds up his arms, his expression hard to read behind his sunglasses. 

“You heard,” says Seb.

“Not all of us get to leave on our terms. This is nothing, really.”

“I’m worried about Kimi,” Seb knows that Lewis doesn’t mean any offense; this is just the way the Brit talks. “He’s been wounded several times, badly. I don’t think any other Guide can really help him. He’s just on a different wavelength.”

“You’re sweet,” says Lewis with a slight shrug, “but a Sentinel can live without a Guide, you know. Quite comfortably, in fact.”

“I wouldn’t be selling your experience as a model of success to the new recruits any time soon, Lewis. You should just admit that you screwed up.”

“He was the one who screwed up,” says Lewis icily. He then quickly reverts to the polite and distant tone typical of him. “You should worry about yourself more than Kimi. Charles is going to be a handful. His spiritual world is filled with unrest, and it looks like nobody has ever taught him how to ease his pain. He uses his trauma as a booby trap. His spiritual barrier is like a gum bubble most of the time, you can touch him while he’s inside it, but you’ll never really be able to get a hold of him.”

“You’re concerned that I’ll hurt myself trying to comfort him.”

“I know a thing or two about that,” Lewis lowers his head. Seb senses a trace of melancholy just barely escaping from behind Lewis’ virtually impeccable barrier. “In the best-case scenario, he’ll abandon you. In the worst, you’ll hate each other’s guts and be unbearably familiar with each other’s most hidden vulnerabilities. You need to look out for yourself.”

“Thanks, Lewis,” smiles Seb, “I will.”

He is not really sure if Lewis counts as his friend or not. Back when Nico decided to retire, Lewis’ fury made the blood run cold in every one of them. Seb remains amazed to this day that Nico actually made it out of Lewis’ barracks alive. Perhaps it was testament to just how important a bonded Guide is to a Sentinel. Since then, Lewis has become sealed off and aloof. Though his abilities do not appear to suffer in the slightest, Seb sees as only a perceptive Guide can that Lewis is in horrific pain. 

The more gifted a Sentinel is, the heavier the burden on their senses. He knows that pain well. Ever since before Seb joined the first tier, Kimi had been enduring the torment of his super-heightened senses, with nothing other than alcohol to turn to for comfort. The most obvious indication of a Sentinel’s Guiding potential is their higher personability. Simply being around them provides some measure of comfort. But a Guide is still a Sentinel, and has their own pain to contend with. The most effective way to ease the pain is to bond to the Sentinel that they are most in tune with. As they heal their Sentinel, they are awarded in return with their Sentinel’s affection and comfort. 

Seb’s spirit animal squeezes itself into the room through the windowsill as he returns to the barracks. It nestles itself into the fur on the Arctic wolf’s back before Kimi even answers the door. 

“Your squirrel is gonna pull all of my hair out.”

Kimi mumbles as he closes the door for Seb, but the white Arctic wolf seems to have no intention of flinging the squirrel off of its back. It calms Seb down to be around Kimi: the Finn’s spiritual world is always open to him. He finds a cozy corner of the room and sits down next to Kimi, the two spirit animals lounging at their feet, curled up with each other. 

“What did Mattia say to you?”

“The usual.”

“Don’t try to tell me that you’re used to it.”

“It’s the truth,” Kimi absent-mindedly pets the wolf on the head, even though the animals do not physically exist. 

“I hate this, Kimi. We fight with our lives on the line, yet to the ones sitting in the offices, we’re just numbers on balance sheets.”

“It’s worse out there.”

Kimi hits the nail on the head. Seb falls silent. He is well aware how lucky they are to be able to join the army. Not only did they have to be exceptionally gifted, they also had to be mentored correctly from a young age to control and wield their power — not to mention all the cutthroat rounds of selection they had to go through to make it here.

The majority of Sentinels end up admitted to sanatoria, living out the rest of their days in adject poverty and insanity. 

Normal people have never regarded them as equals with basic human rights. They are monsters and freaks that need to be contained in a zoo and placed in chains. Mortals fear them the way humankind has feared everything else they’ve regarded as alien over millennia. If they can’t be used, they must be destroyed. 

Seb was lucky that his family’s affections and his mentors’ guidance spared him a lot of suffering. That’s why he is capable of caring for others and functioning as a Guide. But Kimi wasn’t. Even Lewis was not blessed enough to have led a normal childhood. Seb has always felt somewhat guilty about his luck, which is why he chooses to assume the role of comforting others. 

“You’re thinking too much into it,” Kimi points out with brutal honesty.

“I’m so tired,” Seb places his head on his partner’s shoulder. Kimi puts an arm around Seb’s without being prompted. “But I don’t want to stop, not yet. Are you going to retire?”

“At least I’m not tired of the work itself.”

“True. Just follow your intuition.”

He closes his eyes, smelling the ice and snow all around him. This is Kimi’s spiritual world, an eternally frozen island surrounded by the sea. Only Seb knows how to locate the wooden hut concealed in the forest. A warm, soft weight falls on his lips. The aroma of pine and resin fills the air, tender enough to make his chest ache. Flames dancing in the fireplace inject heat into his veins, and he calls out his partner’s name.

_Kimi. Kimi._

Oh, fuck the rulebook. This is his Sentinel, the one and only soul he needs. As long as he’s got him, he can take on all the cold and hostility in the world. 

He fears no more. 


	6. Lovelorn Boy

As soon as he returns to the break area, Max sees a fiery red fox sitting at the door. He immediately rolls his eyes, earning himself an equally unhesitating kick in the shin from Daniel. The fox wrinkles its nose and trots back to its master. 

“Please sit, boys,” Horner pulls out a chair, crossing his legs. “I’m so glad that the precious boy wonder from Team SF didn’t make your mug any uglier than it is. Anything you care to explain to me?”

“As you can see, sir,” Max decides to bluff it out, “I won’t be losing to him next time.”

“Daniel.”

Horner turns to the older Sentinel. Daniel can’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t stop him.”

“You shouldn’t put your Sentinel in unnecessary danger.”

“If only he listens to me.”

Horner regards them with his keen Sentinel gaze. As a bona fide Sentinel himself, Christian Horner has managed to rise to a position of sufficient power that the whole team now answers to him. He mediates transactions between the Committee and their investors with skill and ease, and his success owes little to his superhuman gift. In fact, had he not been born a Sentinel, he would probably have made it even bigger in politics and business alike. The fox keeps circling Daniel and Max, sniffing all the while. They both find themselves unnerved by Horner’s scrutiny. 

“Hmm,” Horner raises an eyebrow. There is always a hint of mocking in his expression, making his real intent hard to read. “You two haven’t bonded yet.”

This chokes up Daniel, while Max blushes all the way down his neck, even his ears turning tomato-red. 

“Oh. It seems like Max would very much like to. I can tell just by looking.”

Daniel takes a step forward to shield Max. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to—”

“You said that when he was eighteen. Now he’s twenty-one. What more are you waiting for? He’ll pole-dance for you right this second,” Horner turns to Max, who is barely breathing. “My God, look at this poor little thing. An absolute lion in combat. Yet in front of his Guide, he turns into a kitten that doesn’t even know how to demand a tiny bit of attention.”

“I’m not…”

“Admit it. You want Daniel. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, every Sentinel falls in love with their Guide.”

Max is embarrassed, frustrated. Daniel senses the Sentinel’s turbulent feelings. Worried that Max will act impetuously, he tries to soothe Max with the antennae of his own awareness. Max resolutely blocks him out. 

“It’s different,” Max tightens his fists, body trembling from the intensity of his emotions. Nonetheless, he appears to be in his right mind. “I…I do need Daniel, but he is not mine. He does not belong to me. It’s different, I mean, we’re very good partners. Like you said, I do have…but I don’t want to take possession of Daniel in this way. Because I really love him.”

 _Stop, Max_. Daniel closes his eyes in despair. He’s been avoiding Max’s advances, but not because he dislikes Max. He is just not brave enough to face a soul so unadulterated and sincere, who loves him with such unconditional intensity. 

_Our choices do not always reflect what we want at heart, Max._ He feels sadness, but not regret, for pulling himself away. _I have principles I need to hold myself to, even if it means hurting you._

Horner chuckles slightly. To Daniel, it feels like the Devil breathing down his neck. 

“Utterly moving,” Horner’s rising drawl is unnerving in his ear, “surely you have something to say to that, Daniel?”

He inhales deeply, feeling his panic gradually settle and dissipate, replaced by a familiar, more sweeping and permanent loneliness. Daniel has always been one of the most resilient Sentinels, and by virtue of that, he has also become one of the best Guides. He knows all about mood management and stress relief, as well as how best to deal with enormous volumes of sensory input. He is good because he has stayed true to the way he chose to live his life. His way is not always correct, but it at least has a price that he knows he can pay for. 

“I’m honored.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he registers the immense pain radiating from Max next to him. Had he been softer-hearted, he would have stopped then and there. But he knows that Max can take it. 

“But, I’m sorry.”

Seeing the disappointment on Horner’s face sends a strange pleasure through him, but Max’s heartbreak makes it impossible to enjoy. He dares not even reach for Max with his antennae, because the latter is experiencing what may be the most severe rejection of his life. The silence stretches out for almost a minute before Max opens his mouth again.

“No worries,” says Max, voice light. “Did you have anything else you wanted to talk about, sir? If not, I’d like to go eat dinner.”

  
He does not believe that the matter is settled just like that. Max looks no different from his usual self; he banters and laughs throughout the meal, though his eyes never meet Daniel’s. Daniel, for his part, never quite manages to bring himself to look at Max. He does not feel as flippant as he thought he would about rejecting a kid he doesn’t dislike. 

Max leaves the cafeteria just before he does. He hurries after Max, but doesn’t manage to catch up with him. They cross the dining area, taking the long way around the drill ground. They make it to the RBR barracks only after stars have started to dot the sky. 

Max stops in his tracks, waiting for Daniel to catch up with him.

“Max,” says Daniel to Max’s silhouette, “I have something to tell you.”

“I’m waiting.”

Max’s eyes catch the starlight. The young Sentinel looks like a fluffy ball of hay, smelling fresh under the sun. Max only ever looks this unguarded in front of him. He watches Daniel, as if waiting for his next joke. 

“It’s not you. It’s me.” Daniel realizes that it’s the lamest explanation he can possibly give, but he feels compelled to give it. 

“Of course it's you,” says Max. “I’m young enough and powerful enough. I would never be a burden to you. Not choosing me is your loss. Although I feel like you probably don’t value ability that much, since not even Lewis is good enough for you.”

“Lewis is a psychotic jerk. No Guide can tolerate him except Valtteri. That man will tolerate anything as long as his breakfast comes with porridge,” laughs Daniel. “You are great. I think if we bonded, we'd be a sweet pair.”

“So, why?”

Daniel feels a sense of relief wash over him before he goes on to explain it to Max. Max is a bright star. Clouds can only ever dim him for a brief moment; he’s always going to shine on. Daniel realizes that this boy is indeed his toughest test yet. Because he really likes Max, perhaps more than he expected to. 

“Probably because I have feelings for you, too.”

“Huh,” Max folds up his arms, “so I wasn't wrong.”

“I don't have your courage. I fear that I won't be able to survive losing what I love,” continues Daniel as he sees Max’s raised eyebrows. “Also, there are things that are more important to me.”

“More important than the one you love?”

“Yes. I’m selfish, Max. I want freedom more. If we get together, I can see what’s going to become of us ten years down the road. We’ll be the object of everyone’s envy. We’ll be in the spotlight as model Sentinels, and have our pictures printed on flyers and keychains.”

“But you don’t want that.”

“I don’t,” says Daniel, feeling calm. “Sentinels are just higher-quality fuel to fan the flames of war. It’s a one-in-two-hundred mutation rate, which means that there are thirty million Sentinels or would-be Sentinels in the world. The Militaires Sans Frontieres have only recruited several hundred, even if you include the retired veterans.”

“We’re soldiers, not Ghandi. We exist to rescue people. If I’m here, I’m going to carry out my duties as a warrior.”

Daniel sighs inaudibly. “This is why I’m not going to bond with you. I don’t want to reinforce those Sentinel stereotypes any further, like how we’re all about aggression and power.”

“Then why did you join the Militaires Sans Frontieres?” Max asks, “if it goes against your principles?”

Daniel chuckles bitterly.

“I thought I would find freedom here.”

He realizes that he’s been looking forward to this conversation more than he thought. There has always been a lot that he wanted to tell Max, but he has stopped himself every time, thinking that it was not necessary. 

“What is this freedom that you want?”

Max asks. Daniel has been thinking about the same thing. He had been thinking since before Max asked that question, before he first set foot in the training center, perhaps before he learned that he is a Sentinel — maybe ever since he first realized that, yes, certain things were within his control. 

“The freedom to choose the wrong option.”

He gives Max a very Daniel-like smile. Max stares at him, like a model student waiting for the teacher’s explanation. 

“I just think it's more interesting to make some errors in life,” he shrugs. “Sure, you have to pay the price, and not everyone can afford to. I couldn't. But I'm older now. Not old old, but old enough to realize that some things inside me will never go back to the way they were. So I have no choice but to accept them. Accept that I can't have everything I want.”

“You can fight for them with me. I'm still young, and we can do so much together.”

“You have only one egg. Do you think it'll give you both an omelet and a lively chick?”

“I don't understand,” says Max. Daniel sighs to himself. He wants to embrace the boy, but he has to push Max away. 

“This is why we can't be together.”

“I guess it's clear then,” Max exhales. “You don't want to keep explaining to me what I can't understand. You also have a reason to stand your ground and not give in to what I want. Now I’m officially rejected.”

“Sorry, Maxie boy,” he does not feel like he needs to press further.

“So is being with me the ‘right’ option for you then?”

“If you prefer to think that way,” Daniel winks at him, “‘right’ and ‘wrong’ are relative, though.” 

“Also, you never let me into your spiritual world,” complains Max. “It’s not fair.”

“I don’t have too much worth showing to you. I’ve already taught you everything useful that I know.”

“Thank you, Master Dan,” Max drawls in an odd sing-song. Daniel bursts out laughing and ruffles Max’s hair, just like they did during every banter in the past three years. He knows that it won’t last. But he wants to keep dreaming, for just a little longer.


	7. Outposts

The red fox is standing in front of the bathtub, its golden gaze piercing through Daniel’s body. He pretends to not notice the fox as he lathers himself with soap. Rinsing the foam away, he finally turns around and snaps. 

“Sir, you have very peculiar tastes. Does a subordinate’s naked body turn you on?”

“You know what I’m going to say to you,” the fox opens its mouth to speak in Horner’s voice, an eerie picture indeed. “I think highly of your abilities, Daniel. I also gave you enough time and chances to prove that you’re worth the investment. But you let me down.”

“Max and I have a wholesome relationship.”

“True. But I expected more.”

He can almost see Horner seated in the office chair, probing him with that shrewd gaze. Daniel looks for savage words to curse his superior with, but after some searching, he concludes that the name Horner itself sounds evil enough. 

Both Daniel and Horner know the real motivation behind this. Once bonded to Max, Daniel can never pull back. Not just because of the Sentinel-Guide spiritual connection, but also because of Daniel’s position within RBR and the MSF itself. As Max’s Guide, he’ll remain crucified to the cross of glory, until they have no more use for him. He has never expected Max to understand his position. No one knows Max better than he does. But he’s also not going to try to negate everything that Max believes in, not when Max trusts him like he does. 

“What is it that you want?” Horner asks him, “I don’t think you’d lose anything by bonding to Max.”

“I’d lose the here and now.”

“Let’s not get philosophical. Your living quarters, equipment, food — you realize that it’s all being funded by the Committee, right? We’re here to sell an idea, the idea that Sentinels exist to serve the people. That to the general populace, we’re not threats to be contained, but comrades that they can coexist with. You and Max will be the model Sentinels of the future, just like Lewis is now.”

 _Except that Lewis’ influence has gotten out of the Committee’s control,_ retorts Daniel to himself. Horner is counting on Daniel to become Max’s Achilles’ heel, so they can put Max on a leash through controlling his Guide. Lewis remains untouchable for the moment because he hasn’t yet done anything out of bounds in the Committee’s estimation — and also because they can no longer pressure him into compliance through Nico, whose spiritual connection with him is lost. 

“You should have more faith in Max,” sneers Daniel, “because he sure has a lot in what you’re selling.”

“I thought you became one of us because you believed it, too.”

“I just didn’t want to see any more people hurt.”

“How touching,” cackles the fox, “I hope you won’t regret it.”

He watches as the fox walks through the window, disappearing into the night. The sound of running water fills the now-empty bathroom, and he begins to feel like he disclosed rather a lot in front of Horner. He doesn’t want to appear too much of a maverick, even if his thoughts tend to be even more deviant than Lewis’. He doesn’t particularly enjoy airing his views, doesn’t want to get involved in the lives of others, and he certainly isn’t going to get bonded to another Sentinel. 

_It’s a cowardly kind of courage,_ he grins bitterly, _but it’s the only way I can fight back._

  
The day of the mission soon approaches. The location is an ancient city near the Eurasian divide, where the Sentinels will be forced into tough street combat: buildings get in the way of their tendrils, human activity cram noise through their information gathering channels. Unexperienced Sentinels fall to enemy traps right out of the gate. Even seasoned veterans make mistakes trying to navigate these tricky streets. 

The city is cursed. So goes the lore among the Militaires Sans Frontieres. 

Seated in his armored vehicle, Max is looking reasonably calm. But Daniel senses the anxiety in the Sentinel. Max has been on edge ever since Horner saw through his feelings, repeatedly turning down Daniel’s suggestions to have a counseling session. 

He can only hope that Max is not going to get himself in trouble today. 

The new recruit is sitting opposite Daniel. Sensing Daniel’s gaze, Charles returns a polite smile before lowering his eyes to leaf through the electronic reading that he may or may not be paying attention to. The black-footed cat curls up in Charles’ arms, its wary eyes fixated on Daniel. 

Daniel sends the honey badger to greet them. Max raises an eyelid almost imperceptibly, then shuts it and pretends to be napping. 

“Are you nervous?”

“I feel okay,” Charles smiles. The Monégasque’s voice reverberates in his head as the black-footed cat slips into the pocket of Charles’ bulletproof vest, leaving only its large ears and bright eyes visible. “It’s not my first time in combat, and Seb’s here, too.”

Sebastian waves to Daniel, who hastens to respond with a smile of his own.

“You guys getting along?”

“I have a lot to learn.”

He doesn’t sense a lot of sincerity in Charles’ reply. The cat remains as guarded as on the first day it arrived at the training center. Daniel quickly realizes that Charles’ caution stems from their different armband colors, even though all he meant was to watch out for his friend’s godson. 

“I hope you don’t pee in your pants,” Max suddenly raises his voice. The other three Sentinels tense up as Max’s lion growls, shaking its head. Charles’ eyes darken a smidgen. The black-footed cat sinks its body low and hisses threateningly from its throat, but the Monégasque’s tone remains as flat and dead as ever. 

“Thank you for your concern. I hope you packed enough underwear for yourself.”

Sebastian can’t help but chortle. Daniel puts a palm to his forehead, realizing that his presence is doing nothing to relieve the tension between the two youngsters. The others merely smile and focus on tuning their own equipment. Daniel wonders what Lewis would have made of this had he been in the vehicle with them. Unfortunately, Lewis is always the last one to arrive, and the first to be done with the mission. 

“You’re more interesting than I thought, Charles,” chuckles Max. “I thought you never got mad.”

“Getting mad won’t make my bullets go farther.”

“Very true. But you also don’t win big by being passionless.”

“Max, stop,” Daniel calls him out, “Charles is on our team.”

“That’s why I’m making sure he’s dependable,” says Max, unrepentant. 

_Are you still mad about what happened on the day of the selection exam?_ Daniel seizes Max’s awareness through their spiritual connection. _We’re on a mission. You need to act more mature._

_He’s our advance guard, can you believe that?_ Max stares at him. _He has no spiritual barrier to speak of. He’s like a lighthouse in the night, and two dozen Sentinels will be onto him the moment he goes out there. Advance guard? More like a signal flare. If the enemy has Sentinels among them, he’ll be their prime firing target. No way I’m going to follow him._

_Charles passed the exam. He won’t make a rookie mistake like exposing himself._

_You’re so easy on him._ Max shakes his head. _We’re going to end up dead because of him._

_You’re jealous._

_Jealous?_ Max suddenly stands up. _You think I’m jealous because you care about him? You’re just rubbing it in how compassionate and powerful you are, aren’t you, watching out for a young Sentinel who has lost his Guide._

“Max, sit down!” Daniel shouts, a bout of unbearable pain rushing from Max’s spiritual world into his head. 

_You’re hurting me, boy._

Max inhales deeply. He knows that the young Sentinel is forcing himself to retract the sharp ends of his feelings, but the pain still lingers in his head. 

_Did Horner say something to you?_

_I didn’t talk about anything with him in particular._ Max averts his gaze, his head still held high. 

_That’s exactly why I didn’t want to say too much to you. I didn’t want you to become angry, even hateful._ Daniel tries hard to maintain the connection despite the pain. _It’s complicated, and this is not a good time to talk about it._

 _It’s never going to be a good time._ Max’s voice is low and grim in his thoughts. 

_Fine._ Daniel admits defeat. _It all started with my friend Jules…_

As Daniel weighs exactly how to tell the story, Sebastian yells suddenly, “drop to the ground!” The seconds that ensue feel like they drag on in infinitely slow motion. A deafening noise blows them off their feet, and the world goes upside-down. Steel objects rain down, and the smell of blood fills the vehicle. Seb, being the first to realize that something has gone wrong, is unhurt. He was even able to grab Charles, whose black-footed cat has leapt out of the overturned vehicle, bouncing its way through piles of rubble. Max took quite a bit of impact, his vision blurred, blood trickling down the sides of his nose. Quickly realizing what has happened, he reaches for the rifle on his back and begins to pound the deformed vehicle door open with its buttstock. 

“Max!” Charles shouts, “Daniel is unconscious! There are three heavy machine guns outside and fifty hostiles on the enemy defense line. We need to move somewhere safe!”


	8. Crossfire

Max swears that he did not mean to screw up. _You don’t have to tell me that. Daniel is my Guide. Of course I'm aware of his condition. He’s not responding…not responding at all._

“We were ambushed,” concludes Seb, “this was not supposed to be our designated combat area. I don’t know how it’s going for the other teams, but we need to extract ourselves safely first.”

“Lewis and Valtteri from Team M were supposed to leave with us, but they…” Charles sounds concerned.

Seb shakes his head, “let’s focus on ourselves first. Those two were approved to carry out their mission separately, and they’re probably in enemy territory by now. This is all our combatant personnel right here. We can pray that Lewis finds out about our situation and comes to our aid, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Daniel’s still not responding!” yells Max. As the roar of crossfire approaches, the team move to erect a defense line, but the surroundings put them at a distinct disadvantage. The vehicle door finally opens, but they are in no hurry to barge into enemy sights. The armored vehicle still affords some protection for the moment. 

“For God’s sake!” Seb shouts, having to raise his volume for others to hear him, “can’t you connect to him spiritually?”

“He’s always been the one to connect to me!”

Max is ready to bet that Charles rolled his eyes at that, although nobody is paying any attention. The young Sentinel from Team SF pokes his rifle through the window, taking out a machine gun operator without aiming. Still hungry, the beast looks for its next target.

“Speaking as the only Guide standing, honestly, I think it’s a waste of time to count on you two,” says Seb as he puts earplugs on Daniel to protect his unconscious teammate from further noise damage. “Max, do me a favor. Charles and I will cover for you, you take Daniel into the bunker, quick.”

Max has no choice but to obey. He activates the exoskeleton so that he can lift an unconscious adult plus both their equipment with ease. Two petite spirit animals are making their rounds on the battlefield, the black-footed cat guiding Charles’ fire to keep the enemy at bay, allowing Seb’s squirrel to do its information gathering. This is why you cannot judge a Sentinel’s abilities based on how big and aggressive their spirit animal is: big is not always better, and small is not always worse. What comes naturally to stealth types like Seb and Charles takes Max much longer to train and master. 

But the sheer volume of Max’s sensing abilities means that he is able to predict even the trajectories of the bullets. To cover for the Sentinels, the drivers of the two other armored vehicles park next to them, creating an opportunity for them to escape. 

“Abandon vehicle!” Seb notifies the others via intercom, “we’ll enter the building so that we don’t become firing targets!”

Max’s awareness extends itself to the outskirts of the crossfire zone. He discovers that the driver of their vehicle still shows signs of life. He is merely knocked out like Daniel has been, perhaps from the loss of blood. The three Sentinels link up spiritually through Seb, and Max immediately reminds the other two. 

“We can’t leave the driver behind—”

“Drop to the ground!!!!”

Seb roars with every fiber of his being. The heat source in the attic turns abruptly into a blinding ball of light, the air vibrates, and Max immediately realizes what they are looking at.

The rocket explodes behind them, tearing a giant hole in their vehicle. They fall on their faces from the force of the blast. Seb is sufficiently unscathed that he gets to his feet almost immediately and starts to count survivors. Max manages to shield Daniel from the bulk of the impact, having retracted his tendrils just in time to spare major damage to his own body and mind. Charles, who was actively covering for them, has no time to take evasive action and flies directly into the wall. 

“Fuck,” Sebastian realizes that something may have gone horribly wrong, “Charles, are you there?”

Several seconds of horrific silence ensue. In spiritual communication, it feels like thousands of years. 

“…I am stupid.”

“Forget that. Are you hurt?”

“I…may have broken a bone. I switched off everything. Sorry,” Charles sounds calm, if in pain. “The enemy is trying to take the four of us out first. I just shot a guy who was going to use a noise bomb on us.”

_So that’s why he didn’t see the rocket coming._

Max realizes the problem. “How did the enemy figure out which vehicle the Sentinels were on?”

“They have Sentinels, too,” replies Seb. “Of course they’d figure it out, since only our vehicle had a spiritual barrier around it.”

“But how did they get their hands on noise bombs that target Sentinels…?” Max presses on. “They’re not exactly garage projects. They cost as much as two bomber drones each.”

“That’s none of our concern right now,” says Seb. “Keep moving. We need to make it to the shelter while the enemy still has limited vision and their Sentinels remain unavailable for reconnaissance from the blast. Charles, can you walk?”

Max finds it impossible to visually locate the new recruit in the dense smoke and dust. Only the voice coming through their spiritual communication channel assures him that the latter is alive. 

“I’m in the building four o’clock from where you are. You can get in through the window.”

The surviving members of the team gather inside the building. They don’t plan on staying long. This is the lobby of a restaurant, with nice bottles of liquor lining its cabinets. None of them is in the mood to drink. Max erects a spiritual barrier to cover every one of them, so that he can warn his teammates as soon as another Sentinel’s tendrils make contact. Charles has blood on his face, mixed in with dirt. To avoid pressuring the injured areas, he has unplugged his exoskeleton and deflated his crash pad. As soon as the belt comes loose, he falls out of the hardened steel exterior like a rag doll. The soldier next to him catches him and helps him slowly sit down. 

Seb’s brows are furrowed in a knot. In the span of five minutes, they’ve lost their means of transportation and the remaining equipment in their vehicle. One driver is dead, one out of four Sentinels unconscious, and one injured. Considering that the enemy side also has Sentinels, the intelligence they received was likely inaccurate. Interference through information contamination is a basic skill for all Sentinels trained in combat. It’s how they were ambushed in the first place. 

“We need to regroup for now,” Seb raises his head and starts with the highest priority task. “Signal corps, can you reach the Command?”

“Negative,” the soldier lifts up his laptop, “the enemy jammed our radio.”

Seb does not halt the spiritual connection, allowing Max to watch all the necessary concerns flash in his mind as he weighs their options, eliminating them one by one. The sheer depth of the elite Sentinel’s strategic mind astounds Max, but he knows that he’s going to be capable of the same — he just needs more time. 

“Five minutes. I’ll try to wake Daniel up, we can’t leave him behind. Max, you check on Charles’ injuries, make sure he’s able to move. When you’re ready, Charles will guide Max to unjam the radio signal. The three of you, cover for Max. Others, stay here and cover for Daniel, Charles and me.”

Max moves to carry out Seb’s order without hesitation. The other soldiers, looking somewhat disgruntled, also obey. Max is about to say something when Seb stops him via their spiritual communication.

“There is no need. These soldiers know they won’t make it out of here alive without us Sentinels.”

Now is not the time to talk to the soldiers about their loyalty. They must work together with all they have in order to survive. Max walks up to Charles, taking off his glove and touching his finger to the artery in Charles’ neck. 

“That’s a bit creepy,” Charles looks at him. 

“Relax, I’m not about to kiss you, Sleeping Beauty,” Max teases somewhat anemically, focusing instead on the information regarding blood flow elsewhere in Charles’ body as relayed by his pulse. Sentinels tend to be oversensitive to their bodily feelings, which leads them to exaggerate their injuries. This is why it is necessary for someone else to verify their condition. 

“You have a slight concussion.”

“I can feel it.”

A rib fracture, obviously incurred when he was thrown at the wall by the blast. A normal person with lower bone density would probably have been in critical condition by now from a punctured lung. Charles, on the other hand, should recover fully in a few weeks, although he will not be seeing any more action today. 

“…And minor scratches.” Max retracts his finger and touch. “I don’t want to enter your spiritual world. Is there anything you need to report?”

“I’m fine, except for the headache. It’s just one blast,” Charles waves his hand, “I shouldn’t have made the mistake. Sorry for holding you back.”

“It’s nothing,” says Max. He is the one who made the more serious mistake, after all. Had he not sulked over his pointless feelings, Daniel wouldn’t have been caught unawares in the ambush and ended up unconscious after their vehicle was overturned. He is not a rookie any more, and even for a rookie, this would have been inexcusable. He was risking the lives of everyone on the team. 

But if only Daniel had been honest with him from the start…

He scrambles to defend himself, but realizes that he doesn’t know how. Charles looks at him and suddenly squeezes his hand. 

“You’re still on a mission. Our lives depend on you.”


	9. Deep Dive

A noise bomb is a weapon that generates loud sounds too high in frequency for normal people to register. These sounds rip apart a Sentinel’s spiritual defense, rendering their hearing useless, sometimes permanently. However, plugging fingers in your ears is all it takes to completely neutralize their effect. This is why noise bombs are only used in ambush. Once the opponent becomes aware of them, these expensive weapons inflict about as much damage as fairy wands at Christmas dinners. 

Seb is not certain whether the enemy is planning to detonate another bomb, so he orders both Charles and Max to wear ear plugs. Not being able to hear physically is an inconvenience, but Sentinels can still communicate through their spiritual connections and awareness. Being an expert lip reader, Seb is also capable of simple communication with the non-Sentinels. 

Daniel is still unconscious. Seb does not sense his tendrils dissolving. The bleeding on the back of his skull has stopped. More critically, Daniel’s spiritual barriers have taken a considerable hit. It looks like Max did hurt him. 

Diving into the spiritual world of the unconscious is a dangerous undertaking. Seb has no idea how likely he is to succeed, but he at least has confidence in one thing that he and Daniel experienced together. Having similar feelings enables their awareness to resonate at the same frequency. Whether he’s able to enter Daniel’s spiritual world will depend on it. He starts reminiscing about that day; a hurricane was inbound from the direction of the sea, with a violent storm in tow. 

The downpour hasn’t relented.

Daniel is driving along a muddy country road. He’s in an ordinary civilian truck, with his favorite playlist on the radio. The wipers barely sweep any portion of the windshield clean before the rain reclaims it with squiggly rivulets. 

He hears thunder, rolling towards him from afar. Purple and white flashes appear on the horizon, which upon closer examination bears yellow and red halos. The truck jerks abruptly under him, sending him out of his seat, and remains tilted. 

“Oh fuck, you’ve got to be kidding.”

Daniel hesitates briefly before throwing his raincoat on and getting out to inspect the truck. The front left wheel is stuck in the mud, and it’s going to take way too long to try to extract it. Daniel reckons that no other vehicle would be driving by in this weather, and after some thinking decides to wait out the rain and see if anyone will lend a hand then. He walks to the cargo bed to check on its contents. The rain keeps pounding on the tarp as he lowers the tailgate. Several bundles roll to the ground with a muffled sound. A deathly pale face is visible despite the layers of tarp wrapped around it — so young, yet utterly lifeless. Several maggots wriggle out of its nostrils, and quickly crawl their way back into its ears. 

Daniel almost falls over. A hand pats him on the shoulder, startling him. He swirls around, finding himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“I’m waiting.”

Max pulls the trigger. He falls into the mud, his blood diluted by the downpour. His body falls freely through the earth, through infinite stretches of time, until he lands on a sofa with trophies of all sorts decorating the wall opposite it. 

“Daniel?” a tiny Charles walks up to him, glass of water in hand. “Here you are. Thanks for playing with me last time.”

He takes the glass, examining the tired-looking face reflected in it. Why does it have to be him? But it seems true that no one else is more up to the task. He looks at Charles: innocent, naive, unaware of the evils of the world he is about to face. Just like Daniel used to be — he and so many that he knew. 

“Charles,” he finds it hard to speak, “I have some bad news that I need to tell you…”

“Is he going to wake up?” Charles blinks, “I can feel him…Jules is alive, isn’t he?”

 _Hope._ Daniel closes his eyes. It may have been the cruelest curse he has ever placed on someone. 

“I hope that he wakes up, just like you do. I hope that this is all just a long dream. Charles, you’re the one who’s most connected to Jules in the whole world. You’ll endure terrible pains and tribulations, but you’ll still be loved…don’t push away the possibility of love. You don’t have to become like me.”

Daniel pulls the green-eyed boy into his arms. Charles’ body slowly morphs into moist, white sand, scattering through his fingers. The drizzling rain tries to softly blur out his vision. He wipes the water away from his face, straightening himself up on the beach.

A figure is walking towards him from the sea. Daniel waits for his next upcoming judgement in the dream world, but instead discovers that the figure does not belong in his subconscious.

Sebastian Vettel is in his dirty combat uniform, submachine gun in hand, brows furrowed. 

“Took me long enough to find you, Daniel. We need you, both Max and Charles do.”

“I’ll go help them,” Daniel brushes the sand off of his clothes. He grabs onto Seb’s hand, letting the older Guide pull him to his feet. “It’s laughable, a Guide getting lost in his own spiritual world.”

“Our consciousness is a maze made up of memories and fantasies. Regrets and desires are reflected in its every mirror, reviving the most intense feelings you experienced.” The world begins to collapse onto itself under Seb’s feet, as they hang suspended in the warm darkness, keeping a visual of each other thanks to the dim indicator light on Seb’s equipment. “You stayed in the same place, which was why I was able to find you. Speaking as someone more senior, though: I think you need to look ahead.”

“I can’t leave. Forgetting would mean betraying myself, in a way,” says Daniel.

“One of these days you’ll reach your limit. We all have to make choices, and refusing to choose is also a choice in itself. You still have to pay for it, sacrifice for it.”

“I can accept that,” smiles Daniel, “I choose to severe myself from the giant tree that is the world.”

Seb shakes his head, not commenting further. Daniel hears the sound of rain receding. He feels as if he’s rapidly rising toward the surface from the deep ocean, his eardrums and heart ringing. A familiar face nods to him from the nothingness of space. He knows that he has been given permission to leave, so he closes his eyes and focuses on feeling the Guiding hand.

A real and violent headache returns to Daniel’s body.

Seb glares at him with stern eyes. He turns around to find Charles sitting on the ground, out of his exoskeleton and obviously with his mind focused elsewhere. He hears no sound other than a gentle rustling. He connects to the communication channel centered around Seb. 

“I need some information.”

“The kids have their own task. Charles is guiding Max to unjam the radio signal. The enemy has Sentinels. I’ll help you locate and eliminate them.”

Daniel’s heart misses a beat, “are they hurt?”

“Charles has a rib fracture. Max is doing fine.”

He doesn’t know whether to be delighted or worried. Neither Max nor Charles is Guiding material, not to mention the tension that has existed between them since day one. He can’t really picture the two of them accomplishing a task as partners, but if Seb has decided that it was the best call, it probably was. 

With wobbly steps, the honey badger returns to the battlefield. 

“Max, you need to stay low. Ambush at one o'clock, give them a grenade.”

Max hurls the grenade. He makes a dash for the bunker ahead of him after the explosion subsides, picking up the cat by its collar to stare into its yellow-green eyes. 

“Max, what are you doing?”

“You talk too much,” says Max. He tosses the cat aside, the latter hissing at him viciously before running off to higher ground. 

“I know what I’m supposed to do in the field. You talk so much, did you remember to hydrate?”

“Thanks, I'm hydrating now.”

“I hope you don’t choke.” Max hurls another grenade and advances under the cover of the explosion. With great satisfaction, he hears Charles coughing and calling out his name.

“Come on, were you really so bored that you were drinking? In battle?”

“The straw’s right next to my mouth, man.”

“Give me something useful.”

Charles goes quiet for a moment before replying. “According to the signal corps, there are three separate jamming devices covering an area one mile long in each direction. You only need to destroy one of them. The enemy may have more than one Sentinel working for them. All of our senses are experiencing interference. But whoever he or she is, that hostile Sentinel hasn’t made it too far into the building. Our rear is secure. Also, Daniel is awake. He and Seb are looking into the enemy Sentinels.”

 _Thank God._ Max exhales. “Where do I go next?”

“Follow me.”

Standing in the hail of bullets, the cat turns around and meows at the four-person team including Max. _Why couldn’t Charles’ spirit animal have been a lynx, or some other bigger and meaner cat?_ Max sighs to himself. The cat is so petite that he can almost lift it with one hand. Even its attack posture looks like a pet cat stretching itself. What a weird picture he and his teammates must make, following a kitten around like that. 

Max’s lion ascends the narrow stairs. Both teams sent soldiers to engage the enemy directly and draw their fire. Max has two of his teammates stay put and fire back, while he and another soldier cover the rear. The gunfire and explosions are but one wall away from him. Max’s intuition, however, is sounding the alarm.

“I think I hit the jackpot.”

“What?” Charles asks, “should I tell Seb?”

“No. You’d get it if you were the one standing here. But I can deal with it. Build me a spiritual barrier, you should be pretty good at it.”

He has faith in himself. Only about three Sentinels in the world can defeat him in a one-on-one battle. True, he underestimated Charles, but he’s learned from it.

Charles immediately realizes what Max intends to do. A moist curtain of rain and mist wraps itself around Max’s consciousness, like a soft, elastic membrane that promises to neutralize any foreign impact. 

“I’ll provide you with information and help you absorb part of their spiritual attack. Remember, your life comes first.”

Sentinels of Max’s caliber are exceedingly rare and cherished properties of the Militaires Sans Frontieres. Max is grateful to Charles for responding promptly to his needs instead of going through their commander like the protocol dictates. The situation they are in means that there is no room for hesitation. He turns to look at his teammate, exchanging neither gesture nor word. He is certain that the enemy Sentinel is watching their every move.

The teammate returns the look. They’ve been dealing with Sentinels long enough to know what to do. Max paces his breathing, pulling his awareness back inside his body to assess the information gathered through his senses. 

That’s when he hears the very small sound of a trigger being pulled.

“No—!”

A gush of blood squirts out of his teammate’s face. The bullet shatters the goggles, going clean through the skull. Max almost instinctively aims his gun in the sniper’s direction. The enemy quickly moves away. He barely spares a look at his teammate’s body before rushing to look for a bunker. 

The black-footed cat stands in the swirling dust, the illusion of its body cut up by rays of sunlight spilling through the roof. He is almost deafened by the roar of his own blood boiling and his heart pounding. 

“Max, prepare for impact.”

Charles’ voice is calm, but he can hear the trepidation in it. It’s the kind of calm born out of extreme anxiety. He holds on to his gun as he watches the army of ants pour out of the ground and the walls, thick as anything he’s seen. He tries hard to not lose control before firing the first shot. 

“What are you talking about,” Max quickly erects the strongest spiritual barrier he has ever summoned in his life, “I’ll never be prepared for this.”


	10. Fierce Beast

Max has seen insect-type spirit animals before, but he never fathomed encountering them in such staggering numbers. The black-footed cat meows nervously, retreating to Max’s side and hopping onto his shoulder. 

“These ants are just an illusion,” says Max, “they don’t actually bite.”

“I wouldn’t suggest charging at them. Daniel is on his way. You just need to hold out for a few more minutes.”

The vast army of ants swarm towards him. They would no doubt devour everything in their path, right down to the bone. He doesn’t plan on using his spirit animal to fight them; the chances of winning are slim and none. He can smell the blood in the air even from behind Charles’ barrier. It’s the smell of a soul craving blood from deep within. He reckons that the master of the ants is probably clinically insane; there is no other explanation for how a single consciousness can split itself to reside in so many individuals. 

_Why not get the enemy to fire the first shot?_

He doesn’t plan on engaging his enemy in mental combat. He’d rather take them out physically using his equipment and fighting skills. Many Sentinels tend to rely too much on their senses, but not Max. He knows that the most direct way to kill is to snap his opponent’s neck. His exoskeleton and bullet-proof vest afford enough protection, and he’ll minimize the risk of injury as long as he assumes the correct posture. Heck, he’ll take a minor injury if it gets him the result.

He pulls the safety pin out of a grenade and throws it at the enemy, whose bullet hits the grenade mid-air, as expected. The explosion sends the ants flying, leaving a giant hole in the floor of the attic. 

“He’s there!”

The black-footed cat prompts. This message reaches Max via their spiritual connection, traveling faster than sound. Having long since switched to a higher-caliber weapon with better penetration, he empties a cartridge into the spot where the enemy is hiding. 

“I can hear your bullets hit the target,” Charles has not relaxed, “but the enemy’s mental activities did not cease.”

Max pulls out his pistol and releases the safety. The dust gradually parts and settles, and a figure stands up from the hiding spot as bits of wood crackle and fall around him. He makes a peculiar sound when he walks, shaking the floor with every step like a morbidly obese person. His gait, however, is even and steady, and makes one think that he’d be capable of lightning fast reaction if necessary. 

“Oops, it’s useless,” says the young male. He has a heavy accent, and Max has to make a considerable effort to tell the syllables apart. “You destroyed my only weapon.”

Max does not believe his enemy. He asks Charles, “is he telling the truth?”

“He lost his rifle, and appears not to have any other weapon on him. I think you hit him, more than once.”

The black-footed cat pokes its head out to check on the enemy. Charles is greeted instead by a grinning face.

“ _¡Hola! Lindo gatito, trabajaste tan duro!_ ”

The black-footed cat immediately disappears into its pocket in Max’s vest. Max pulls it back out by the collar. “Didn’t you say that I hit him?” he asks heatedly. 

“Yes, but he’s doing fine!” Charles does not want to argue, “you can see for yourself.”

Max holds out a tiny mirror and finally sees his enemy’s real face for the first time. He is convinced that he did indeed hit his enemy, now that he sees the several bullet holes in the Sentinel’s uniform. What he does not see, however, is blood. The Sentinel even grimaces at him in the mirror. Max stands up from behind his cover, gun pointed at the enemy. 

“Don’t move!”

The enemy puts up his hands and stops in his tracks. The nameless Sentinel has a small figure and a pretty, refreshing face. He looks to be in his twenties, with markedly Hispanic features and a smile radiant like the Mediterranean sun. Max now knows why the Sentinel is not bleeding. There is no human skin under the clothing torn open by the bullets. Instead, he sees the silvery, metallic shine of high-strength alloys. 

A soldier heavily fortified with cybernetic prosthetics. Max feels his heart sink. This is only supposed to exist in rumors and legends — a ghost story. Charles’ cat is on his shoulder, the hairs on its back and tail bristling from nervousness. The technology was explicitly banned from military use ten years ago. He cannot begin to fathom what organization on earth would have been able to pay for this kind of development and maintenance, and what terrifying willpower it would have taken for a Sentinel, hundreds of times more sensitive to pain than a normal person, to survive the endless fortification experiments. 

“You know where I’m from,” smiles the Sentinel, “Number 33, you know the answer.”

The memories he forced himself to forget resurface. Max can barely keep his hold on the pistol. Dark blue liquid slowly comes over his nostrils, then the top of his head. He screams, cries, struggles, pounding frantically on the plexiglass in front of him, but the only things that greet him are numerous indifferent eyes, all watching him drown. 

“Max?” Charles’ voice jerks his consciousness back where it belongs, “are you alright?”

 _Fuck._ He fights to maintain his spiritual barrier, not letting it fall apart. He feels Charles holding onto his consciousness from the other end. He begins constructing his own garden, relying on the eerily familiar smell of Charles. Moist earth and cherry blossoms in full bloom. Nothing is going to hurt Max here; all he feels is peace, peace, peace. 

Pacing his breathing, Max places his finger on the trigger and asks.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Number 93.”

Number 93 still has that nonchalant smile on his face as he takes a step towards Max. Max fires a shot at the floor in front of him as a warning. 

“You know you can’t hurt me with those bullets,” Number 93 cocks his head, the brilliant, infectious smile still in place. “You should be more powerful than you are. What went wrong?”

_Daniel. It was Daniel. He abandoned me. He fears me. He’s no different from all the others —_

“Max! Don’t let him sway you!”

The black-footed cat sinks its teeth into Max’s arm. The phantom pain from the spirit animal’s bite penetrates the protection of layers of clothing, and Max is finally able to put his sanity back in one piece. 

“What a persistent little animal. I like the guts,” Number 93 nods approvingly at Charles’ spirit animal. “All four Sentinels here should have been down by now if not for you. But you’re so busy looking out for your friends, you haven’t paid attention to the chink in your own armor.”

“Charles?!”

Max tries to hold onto the vanishingly thin spiritual thread. Without warning, the black-footed cat twitches and falls from Max’s arm, spasming and coughing up balls of ants coated in stomach acid. 

“Charles! Charles! Answer me!”

Max feels the barrier surrounding him dissipate. The figure of the black-footed cat dissolves into nothing in the sun, leaving behind only luminescent dust to be scattered by the wind. His spiritual communication channel falls dead silent. No one is responding. 

_You screwed up everything._ He hears his father’s voice. _You screwed up everything!_

The lion lets out a roar of fury and charges at the culprit alongside its master. 

In front of Daniel and Seb, Charles suddenly starts retching. He covers his nose, but blood seeps out from between his fingers. 

“Fuck,” Seb swears to himself. He has Charles lie down on his side to keep the blood from entering his windpipe. If Charles coughs now, he’ll risk breaking a rib. The blood from Charles’ nose quickly dyes his collar a deep red. Seb knows that there is not much else he can do. The symptoms are typical of a Sentinel under spiritual attack. They can’t do much other than wait for the bleeding to stop on its own.

“He fainted, and his spirit animal hasn’t returned,” Seb says to Daniel, “Max is in trouble.”

“I know.”

Daniel knows that he must look dreadful right now, but he couldn’t care less what Seb or the others think. Max and Charles have encountered an extremely powerful enemy — possibly one that even Lewis wouldn’t have been able to get the better of. 

“The interference on our senses has ceased. You should feel it,” Seb looks at Daniel, “the enemy Sentinel is focusing on Max. I can lead a team to unjam the radio signal. The medics will stay and tend to Charles.”

“I’ll go look for Max,” Daniel rises to his feet. He still has a terrible headache, but the pain is nothing compared to knowing that Max is still out there, fighting all on his own. “I’m going alone. I’m in no shape to cover for anyone else.”

Indeed, normal soldiers would probably fare better if they stayed out of Sentinel combat. Seb understands Daniel’s reasoning. Though he trusts Daniel’s experience and capabilities, Seb feels compelled to add, “try to buy us some time. Reinforcements can’t be too far away.”

 _What a disgrace._

Daniel shakes his head angrily at himself. For the elites among elites, even an error like getting ambushed is inexcusable. They are not ordinary people — not even normal people. They are Militaires Sans Frontieres who have been in sensory training from a very young age. By the time they turn twenty, they are already hardened super soldiers with tons of military exercise experience under their belt, and that’s before they make the brutal cut for the first tier. With the most advanced individual combat equipment in the world, the most demanding training regimen, and natural talent that carried them through numerous rounds of selection, how did they get beaten by a tiny guerilla force in this heap of rubble?

His sensibility refuses to accept that his partner got crushed by a nameless Sentinel who came out of nowhere. His senses, however, are telling him that Seb is absolutely right: he cannot risk adding himself to the list of casualties. 

Daniel quickly locates Max from the traces his Sentinel left behind. The moment that he reaches out with his tendrils, however, he is scorched by something dark and boiling hot filling the interior of the building. From a Sentinel’s perspective, the air feels like brewing storm clouds, its darkness slit open now and then by bolts of lightning. He struggles to find words to describe it. It’s unlike anything he has seen before. Some Sentinels are capable of using their moods and feelings to create auras that affect even normal people, but nothing remotely like this — not a virtual black hole, full of chaos and violence, threatening to devour anything and everything that dares approach it. Daniel can’t tell if this is the handiwork of one Sentinel or several, but he is convinced that Max is inside. The locator he has on him is beeping to life again. 

He hears Seb’s voice through his earplugs, “we are done here.”

The problem now is how to extract Max from this quagmire. According to his locator, Max is directly above him. Daniel considers it for a moment, and decides to barge his way in on the strength of his spiritual barrier. For a normal person, it wouldn’t have been all that difficult to walk up these flights of stairs. But Sentinels can’t shut off their senses, and Daniel has to inch forward with a hand to the wall, walking virtually blind. The thunder and lightning strike down on his spiritual barrier, just like the rain threatening to pound their helicopter open in the hurricane that forced them to crash land five years ago. 

_No, not now._ Daniel shakes his head. The downpour and thunder surround him, but listening closely, he realizes that it’s crossfire coming from a distance. 

“Max—!”

Daniel cries out at the top of his lungs. He can’t see where Max is, and he’s only shouting because he needs a way to reel his awareness back into himself. He can’t risk being consumed by his own subconscious while awake. There will be a time for daydreaming, but it’s definitely not now. 

“Max! Where are you? Max!”

The honey badger circles his feet, agitated. Some ants gather around the badger, but quickly retreat. Daniel senses the presence of a third Sentinel in the dark clouds. He immediately raises his gun. “Don’t move.”

He hears a slight cackle. Before he can decide to shoot, the nameless Sentinel takes a few steps back and climbs nimbly out of the attic window. The honey badger seems to have bumped into something. Since spirit animals aren’t impacted by physical objects, Daniel immediately realizes that they’ve run into Max’s lion. 

_Max. Max. Can you hear me?_

The lion is silent. The honey badger raises its head, trying to touch the lion’s whiskers and cheeks. 

_It’s me, Daniel. Just…come back to me._

Daniel suddenly feels his legs give out under him. Had he not been in his exoskeleton, he would have fallen onto his knees. He has never felt such overpowering fear before, like ten thousand needles piercing his skin, a steel cage crushing his lungs. The lion opens its mouth, revealing its bloody fangs. The honey badger realizes that there is no escape.

_Max. Don’t._

Daniel falls to the floor, his exoskeleton switching to preservation mode. Blood from his nose drips to the dusty floor boards. Somewhere away from him, Max also lies unconscious. An ant climbs to Max’s fingertip, and quickly disappears into thin air once again. 


	11. Release

Charles finds himself standing on soft grass. The air smells of fresh rain, the sky above covered with clouds, and everything is moist and glistening. Snow-white cherry blossoms litter the ground. The flowerbeds are filled with new green growth. Ivy vines creep up white walls lined with moss. It feels like being inside an impressionist painting. 

He hears children frolicking. A lady in sportswear pushes a toy car past him, with a chubby, blond boy happily giggling in it. The two go through an archway adorned with blossoms, and dissipate like mist. Another blond boy appears, much taller and unhappier. With clenched fists, he runs toward and straight through Charles. 

_Max._

He whispers the boy’s name. This is Max’s spiritual world. He seizes onto that thread and reels his own memories in, little by little. He was on the battlefield with Max. They encountered a formidable enemy. The enemy was…

Charles is blanking out. His memories after that feel like TV static. He registers pain, as if from a venomous insect bite. This has never happened to him before. He’s never been Guiding material, and naturally does not have the easiest time entering someone else’s spiritual world. He has no idea where this world ends and what dangers await in it. Of course, he is also not interested. He joined the Militaires Sans Frontieres for a reason, and he cannot afford to be trapped here. 

He has to get out.

The Max that is now in the garden looks even older. He stands as tall as Charles’ nose now. Max has a boning knife in his hand, and seems to be in an argument with someone. The lady next to him, most likely his mother, is trying to calm him down. Suddenly, Max has fear in his eyes. The knife falls out of his hand, and he is dragged forward, tripping but not stopping. The lady buries her face in her hands, sighing in agony. 

The flowers begin to wither and perish. Charles instinctively looks for his spirit animal, but finds none. It makes sense; he himself is in spiritual form right now. He turns around to find the garden scene in pieces, revealing a cold, expansive space. The lights are focused on a transparent tank in front of Charles, tall enough to contain a standing adult. He steps closer, only to be startled by the palm of a hand appearing out of nowhere. 

_Max._ Charles freezes. This is Max. The blond boy is locked away in the tank, his body covered in electrodes, his face hidden behind an oxygen mask. He pounds on the glass within an inch of his life, because dark blue liquid is filling the tank, its surface rising. But Charles does not hear Max’s cries, only a few muffled thumps heavy enough to crush a human heart. 

_My God. What is this?_

Charles tries to break the glass or at least make a crack, but it goes nowhere. _This is Max’s spiritual world,_ Charles realizes. He has no power whatsoever to alter Max’s subconscious. The liquid rises above Max’s head. The boy struggles for a moment, and then goes limp. Only his blond hair keeps drifting gently in the liquid like seaweed. 

“No one has made it here before.”

From behind Charles comes the throaty voice of a boy just undergoing voice change. He turns again to find Max standing in front of him, looking about in his early teens. His hair is wet and spiked, his cheekbones red, his expression stubborn, unyielding. 

“I’m very sorry,” says Charles, spreading out his hands, “could you tell me how I can get out of here?”

“He's trapped, too,” the younger Max gestures toward the liquid-filled tank. The suited-up adult Max is suspended there, gun in hand. Every now and then, a small string of bubbles escapes his mouth or nostrils. “He never actually left, but he abandoned me here because he thought he'd managed to escape.”

Charles does not want to bother with someone else's childhood trauma. He is in pain himself, pain that nothing really relieves. The woes of others only serve to reiterate the fickleness of fate that Charles has long since been familiar with. He does not despise Max. He just sincerely wishes that Max would keep his distance. Understanding Max or being understood by Max makes him feel weak, helpless. He hates it. 

“Why are you here?” the younger Max sounds wounded. Accusatory, even.

“I’m not your Guide. It's not my job to help you,” says Charles, “you need Daniel.”

“It's too late,” the younger Max hangs his head, “Daniel can no longer see me.”

“You can still go see Daniel yourself,” Charles tries to hold back his temper.

“Max cannot open up his spiritual world. There is too much he forced himself to forget, too many feelings distorted, too many memories altered. Only those who have seen and accepted Max in his entirety can make it here. You are special, Charles Leclerc. You're special to Max Verstappen.”

“I was here by accident,” Charles feels his patience running thin. “If you need counseling, go find somebody else. I have my own job to do. I don’t have time for this.”

“Max is special to you, too,” the younger Max stretches out his hand. He is holding a patient wristband with Charles' name on it. “You remember that, although he has forgotten too much of it.”

“Not him,” Charles takes half a step back, “that wasn't him.”

“Ask your own memory.”

Charles' right foot lands in a puddle of water. He looks around to see a group of young Sentinels being led into a grayish building by an adult. Each Sentinel has a plastic band around their neck with their name and number on it. He sees his sixteen-year-old self standing at the front of the line, accepting a written report from the researcher at the entrance. 

"You're first place," announces the researcher.

"It's not fair!" a protest rings out from the front of another line. Both Charleses turn toward the sound. The younger Max is gesturing angrily, his hair wet. "He distracted me with his spirit animal!"

"It was just an incident," says the younger Charles evenly. Charles never realized that he was this good at riling people up. "You were supposed to be focusing on your own task."

"I was sitting there just fine, but then your damned cat started puking. I thought you needed help!"

"Cats do that a lot," the younger Charles averts his gaze, looking like he has more important things to tend to than arguing with Max. "You need to brush up on your biology."

Max is too angry to say anything back. Charles the spectator knows what happens next. The younger Charles will collapse from a sudden bout of impact on his spirit. More horrifyingly, he will remain conscious and feel the pain tear his body apart as he lies on the ground, his every breath burning with the feeling of being suffocated. He will inhale and inhale but never get the oxygen he needs, as tears flow helplessly into his mouth. 

Pain. Enough pain to make him wish that he would die right away. His brain bursting at the seams, nerves cracking under the impossible weight. Half of his spirit being torn alive from stem to stern, with no way of knowing where the pain even comes from. All he wants is for the public humiliation to end. 

The adult Charles feels his hands tremble. He can never forget what happened to him on this day. His memory is too good for that, which is the problem. The dreadful pain, the humiliating memories, the shameful helplessness -- he never forgot any of them. Max witnessed all of it: Charles' entire meltdown from losing the spiritual projection of his Guide, on the day that Jules was attacked, thousands of kilometers away. He does not want Max to look upon him with pity or sympathy. That would make him hate Max enough to want to destroy him. 

“The kid is having a panic attack!”

The researcher immediately begins to inspect Charles' condition. The younger Max is stunned. He watches as the needle goes into Charles' arm, the boy he’s been arguing with now being lifted onto a stretcher. He then turns to the adult leading his team.

“Was it…because of me?”

 _You couldn't have made me collapse if you tried,_ thinks Charles coldly. _You were but a hothead and an annoyance to me._

His memories take him to the patient ward, where the young Charles lies in bed. The brain wave monitor on the wall shows him trapped in a nightmare. A small yellow animal walks into the ward, keeping itself to the wall. Charles sees immediately that it is Max's lion. 

“Don't make stuff up to trick me,” says Charles, looking up, “what's in it for you?”

“These are your memories,” Max's subconscious materializes out of nowhere, arriving at his side. “This is the truth.”

Charles turns his back, refusing to watch what happens next. He knows that someone, a Guide, entered his spiritual world that day to pull his consciousness back to the world of the living. But how on earth could it have been Max? And, if it were, how could he have not recognized Max's spirit animal?

“Lies,” Charles steps forward to tear the image apart, “you're lying.”

“You are the one lying to yourself.”

Oh, here it is again. The quintessential Max look that says “I’m the right answer”. A visible spiritual barrier rises around Charles, and the younger Max finally starts to seem flustered.

“Charles! Just think of this as me asking for a favor, okay?”

Upon hearing Max's plea, Charles undoes the barrier and seems ready to listen. The younger Max inhales deeply, his shoulders sagging. He looks almost pitiable. 

“Set Max's consciousness free. You’d be helping Max and yourself.”

“I’m not a Guide,” Charles sticks to the facts. “I have no idea how to wake Max up, especially now that I'm trapped in his spiritual world.”

“Sentinels are perhaps born, but a Guide's abilities can actually be learned. The question is whether or not you are willing to accept another soul, and endure the pains and misfortunes from the intertwining of two fates,” the younger Max produces a flashy pair of socks from his pocket. It’s obvious whom those are from. “Being a Guide is not all bad. You share the pain, but you also enjoy double the happiness. The reward comes with the risk. It is up to you to explore.”

Charles takes the socks from Max, feeling their texture and touch. “Daniel helped me too, for a while.” Then he realizes something. He looks at Max, narrowing his eyes.

“You're not part of Max's subconscious. You’ve been planted here by someone else.”

The younger Max smiles. It’s definitely not Max's smile, but it’s warm, and it makes him feel good. A sort of resignation suddenly washes over Charles. Some parts of him want to laugh. Others want to cry. 

“Max is lucky to have such a great Guide.”

“Not great enough,” the younger Max pats Charles on the shoulder, “this is all I can do for him.”

“Why?”

Tears roll down Charles' cheeks. He has no idea why he is crying. His chest is drowning in many feelings, warm and piercing. There is too much he doesn’t understand, too many questions with no simple answers. Why did he have to lose Jules? Why does Max have to say goodbye to Daniel? Why does he have to understand Max, just like how Max let him into his spiritual world without meaning to? What kind of clumsy script pushed him and Max to where they are now? 

“You can do it.”

The younger Max pushes him, smiling. The world gradually fades to a colorful mirage. 


	12. Unexpected Visitor

“…I said, I can’t feel his consciousness…he’s back!”

Charles hears the voices of his teammates. A horde of doctors immediately swarm Seb with an array of instruments which they plan to install on Charles. Seb tries to hold back the rowdy clown show, but finds it difficult to do by himself. 

“Andrea! Give me a hand, would you, and get these idiots out of here!”

Andrea, Charles’s trainer, immediately responds to Seb’s request. They are finally left alone. Charles blinks and turns his head both ways, slowly. 

“…Where am I?”

Seb finds a chair and sits down. The walls of the room are filled with a special soundproof material, and Charles can feel its soft, cheese-like structure. In the corner, he sees two pots of green plants, most likely moved inside only recently; they seem to be thriving. The interior decorations have been done with a Sentinel’s senses in mind, with clean, gentle colors. Sunlight seeps through the velvety curtains, but doesn’t bring heat with it. 

“You’re injured,” says Andrea, “we’re at the base behind the Azerbaijan lines.”

Charles tries to recall with great effort exactly where he was before this, and what he was doing. Seb is in a light short-sleeved shirt. He hasn’t had the time to shave or wash his hair, but he at least doesn’t seem to be injured. 

“Seb,” he says, “sorry, I screwed up.”

Seb looks like he’s about to pat Charles on the head before thinking the better of it because of his injuries. 

“You did your best.”

“The others…how are Daniel and Max?”

Seb’s expression becomes awkward. Charles gives Andrea a questioning look. Andrea clears his throat and puts his hands behind his back. 

“Team RB will take care of them.”

“I’m asking how they are doing now.”

Charles insists. Seb and Andrea still seem reluctant to talk.

“Are they injured? Is it bad? Or are there repercussions from the spiritual attacks?”

“You need to recover,” says Seb.

“You weren’t there. It’s hard to explain. But Max is in great danger and I need to know how he is doing.”

“Okay, fine, you brat,” Seb interrupts Charles, “I just wanted you to stay calm. Don’t do anything that would endanger yourself or the others. We need to minimize our losses. This battle will take some time for all of us to reflect upon, but your task right now is to get healthy.”

“If you don’t tell me anything, I’m just going to be more worried.”

Seb looks at Andrea. Andrea nods to him. The trainer is only too familiar with Charles’ stubbornness.

“I can tell you, but you better not do anything stupid. Mattia would not want to get that kind of report from me.”

“Just tell me.”

Seb squeezes his hands together and sighs. 

“They are both still in a coma. Daniel suffered a severe spiritual attack, but he put up the best protection he could before the attack happened to him. His numbers are stable, and he should be able to slowly regain consciousness. Max’s situation is more complicated. The EEG is saying that he’s just asleep, but he simply can’t seem to wake up.”

Charles looks up at the ceiling. He knows what happened to Max. Max is trapped in his own subconscious. Something has triggered him to relive his long-buried trauma, a pain that Max never even realized existed in him. That’s why he has no idea how to escape from it. Human beings cannot triumph over the unknown. 

_You should go help Max._

This is no doubt what Jules would have told Charles. He knows that it has nothing to do with moral ideals or shows of camaraderie. Someone in front of him needs help. That’s all there is to it. He has a thousand reasons to barge into Max’s ward and attempt to enter his spiritual world once more, but he has no idea where that will lead him. He knows how to perservere in exercise or combat, but diving into someone else’s brain is not quite that simple. Hard work and resilience won’t help him much there. 

He’s not in better shape than Max. In fact, his condition is far worse. His only advantage is his familiarity with pain, which made him better at enduring it. He soon discovers where his contempt for Max stemmed from: he didn’t know how Max could just live on, as if nothing had ever happened. He knows why now, but he’s still unwilling to admit that Max is capable of feeling loneliness and pain, same as him. He doesn’t feel that Max needs to be pitied, just like how he also detests every person who tries to pity and sympathize with him. 

“Charles,” Seb reminds him, “I’m glad that you’re not jumping in bed and trying to break your rib, but you need to give your spirit a break, too. You need to calm down.”

“I’m trying,” says Charles, sulking. 

Seb exhales, smoothening the wrinkles in his pants as he stands up. “Andrea, I’ll leave the kid with you for now. I need to go to this Committee questioning. Let me know if anything happens. Don’t contact Mattia, he’s going to have his plate full for a few days.”

“Roger,” the trainer gives him a gesture of understanding and sits down next to Charles’ bed. Charles lies still and doesn’t speak until he begins to lose track of the time, and his trainer starts to snore almost imperceptibly. 

“Andrea.”

“Ooh!” the gray-haired adult jolts up, “sorry, Charles.”

“You’re loud,” Charles looks at him, “could you leave me alone?”

Andrea looks embarrassed, but he understands that a Sentinel’s heightened senses need rest, especially after suffering the kind of attack that Charles has. He nods considerately and picks up his stuff, exiting the room quickly and noiselessly. Charles turns to the surveillance camera in the corner of the room, pretending to close his eyes and nap. The tiny black-footed cat crawls out from under the bed, jumps up the desk and leaps out of the window. 

“Max, if you can’t figure out what’s inside the box, you don’t have to come to dinner.”

The only thing he sees is his father’s back turned on him. He raises his face and looks pleadingly at his mother, who shakes her head. Though a Sentinel herself, she is as clueless as Max is. 

Max has no choice but to shut his eyes and focus on the box covered in flannel in front of him. The box is made of styrofoam, and it takes him a long time to work his way through the thick buffer layer. A soft, solid sphere dangles inside, but he can’t tell what kind of material it is. It seems to be flowing, but somehow does not spread out. 

“It’s a water balloon.”

Max turns around instantly. He has not sensed the person approaching from behind at all. This is a young man with unruly hair and melancholy green eyes. He’s in an army uniform with a red and white armband, looking tired and docile. 

“Hello, Max.”

“Who are you? How did you get in my home?”

“Think, Max,” the young man sits down next to him, “we’ve known each other for almost all of our lives.”

Max looks at his mother. The moment he heard the young man’s voice, everything else around him came to a standstill. Even the petals carried by the wind hang suspended in mid-air. 

“Better hurry, I can’t promise to last long. Your ego is subconsciously rejecting my presence.”

He looks into the young man’s eyes, and realizes that they only get their forest-green color when the refracted light mixes the blue of the outer irises with the yellow near the pupils. He knows these eyes, and he also knows whom they belong to. He’s not the boy being punished by his father. Not any more. 

He’s a warrior. A warrior like this young man. 

“Charles,” Max stands up, his gaze level with Charles’, “you’re in my dream? Looks like it’s going to be a nightmare.”

“So please, wake up already,” says Charles before turning around to leave. Max immediately grabs his shoulder. 

“I need to talk to you. I mean…I need to thank you first,” Max tries to phrase this correctly, “I was trapped here, but I don’t suppose you only just entered my consciousness, so…you’re a pretty decent guy.”

“Save your breath. You can tell me what you need to in the real world,” Charles extends his arm toward Max. “I’ll carry you to the surface, but don’t let the others know that it was me who helped you. I’ve only just joined Team SF, I don’t want any trouble.” 

“No,” Max shakes his head. Talking to Charles somehow feels more difficult than fighting on the battlefield. “It’s just…how much do you know about me now?” 

Charles obviously doesn’t have time for this, but he tries to remain polite. “If you’re talking about your control freak dad, I guess I know about 90% of the details. If it’s about you and Daniel, I won’t comment too much on that. Everybody’s free to make their own choices.”

“Damn,” Max covers his face, “I have no privacy left.”

“I’m just a spectator to your memories, and this is but a long dream to me. You are the one who experienced all of this, and your feelings are still private. You can choose to either let these memories hurt you or not. I think you’ve already been doing that.” 

He’s surprised that Charles thinks this way. In that moment, he feels like it would be okay to open up to Charles. 

“I was actually just…blocking them out. Thinking that I shouldn’t be bound by these things. That I had to fight, make progress, become the new model soldier. Too many more important things to focus on,” shrugs Max, “and then I’m here.”

Charles gives him a complicated look.

“You’re allowed to grieve for yourself.”

Max falls silent. There is no denying that what Charles is saying sounds sincere, painful, and incredibly attractive. But he doesn’t know if it would be the right way for him to deal with the past. You can’t simply fit someone else’s pants on your head, especially not when he’s been living like this for the past twenty or so years. Their situations are different. Daniel did not die; he simply rejected him. Rejected. 

“Max,” Charles reminds him again, “you’ll have time to think about this. But you need to wake up first.”

“Fine,” Max grabs onto Charles’ wrist, “I’ve had enough rest anyway.”

Max’s eyes twitch. The black-footed cat sniffs his nose and, sensing the change in the rhythm of his breathing, prepares to exit through the window. As soon as the cat jumps onto the desk, a large white bird abruptly descends, completely blocking the cat’s way out. The seabird folds up its wings and preens for a minute before dropping down its neck to size up the cat. 

“You kids sure are naughty these days.”

A man in a white suit walks into the ward, smiling at Charles’ spirit animal. With his blond hair impeccably combed, the man exudes an aristocratic elegance in every movement. It takes Charles some time but he now realizes who this is, even though he has never met the man before. 

Nico Rosberg. The white seabird in front of Charles is his spirit animal — an albatross. Rosberg walks up to Max’s bed and inspects Max with his Sentinel senses, before turning to look at the cat on the desk. 

“You did my job, young man,” Rosberg raises an eyebrow. “The MSF had trouble finding a Guide who could deal with this. I happened to be nearby, so I thought I’d lend a hand. You’re Charles Leclerc, right? I try to stay in the loop about new MSF recruits. I thought you weren’t a Guide.”

“I’m not,” the cat crouches down, “Max was like this when I got here.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not looking for trouble,” Rosberg has a friendly smile, but not the kind that puts Charles at ease. “It’s just that I may know a bit more than you about what Max had to go through. You did great, probably even better than I could have, from a Guiding standpoint. I’ll tell the others that I was the one who woke Max up, but we need to get our stories straight if we’re going to make it work.”

“Why not start now, then?”

A gun is pointed at Rosberg’s head. Max stands behind the man who was once the best Guide the MSF had. Like a true Team RB Sentinel, he keeps his weapon close. The lion roars its warning at the albatross, shielding the black-footed cat with its feet. 


	13. Undercurrent

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now this is not what I had in mind for a welcome.” 

For someone with a gun pointed at his head, Rosberg does not seem particularly unnerved. He simply sits down on the sofa as Max instructs. The black-footed cat remains in the lion’s protective shadow. Charles doesn’t know whether he should leave the room or not. 

_Stay._ Max spares a strand of his awareness to tell him. _Stay with me._

Charles has no idea what Max is going to do, but his instinct is telling him not to say no. Right now Max feels like a furnace fire, hot but not scorchingly so. He even feels somewhat comfortable. 

“Mr. Rosberg,” Max does not lower his gun, “now you can tell me what your plan is.”

“I thought it was going to be ‘Sir’. That’s not important right now, though. Am I allowed to put my hands down? You know I don’t have any weapons on me.”

“Yes.”

Rosberg finally relaxes and sits. He smooths out the wrinkles in his pants, adjusts his shirt collar, and smiles at Max who sits across from him. 

“Do you know who attacked you in this mission?” the corner of Rosberg’s mouth curls up as he sees Max’s expression. “It was the SSG, a terrorist organization. They’re the elites among the Sentinel Self-Defense Force. Five years ago, we lost an outstanding first-tier Sentinel in a battle with them.”

Jules. It was Jules Bianchi, his godfather, the only Guide he will ever have. 

“I’ve heard of the SSG,” says Max.

“So what did you see during this mission?”

“I only remember Charles and I both collapsing.”

“And Daniel? What do you remember about him?”

Max stares into Rosberg’s eyes, “what about Daniel?”

Charles doesn't speak. He realizes that Max is lying. Max has been since answering the first of Rosberg’s questions. All MSF members have heard of the SSG; the organization has long since made it into the wanted lists of the United Nations’ anti-terrorist branch. He doesn’t recall the identity of their attacker, all his pertinent memories having been nibbled clean. But clearly it was different with Max. Max seems to have retained memories important enough that he has to lie about them in front of Rosberg. 

Rosberg looks disappointed, “not again. Their Sentinels are experts at spiritual invasions, and they always erase the memories of their victims so as to not reveal too much about themselves. That’s why there is still much that we don’t know about the state of the SSG’s technology and the individual abilities of their Sentinels. Regardless, I’m very glad that you made it back to the base safely.”

“Not all of us,” says Max, voice hoarse. 

“I’m very sorry. They will be remembered as heroes.”

Max is not a cold person. If anything, he is perhaps even more emotional than Charles is. His regret and anger are real; Charles can even see the horrific image of the bullet piercing the goggles. Max is angry at himself for failing to protect his teammate. Max feels that he should have done everything perfectly, because he is the most outstanding Sentinel, and he is always the best. 

“So what happened to Daniel? He shouldn’t be…too badly hurt.”

“Depends on how you define ‘badly’,” Rosberg crosses his legs, “I checked on him. His spirit animal was almost bitten to death, but he wouldn’t say who did that to him, so I’m also going to pretend that I have no idea.”

“Are you implying that I did that to Daniel’s honey badger?”

“I didn’t say that.”

A dangerous silence stretches out for a few moments before Rosberg smiles again. It’s an unpleasant kind of smile, a social façade. 

“I know you don’t lose control easily. Horner has decided to make Daniel shoulder most of the blame, so you don’t have to worry about receiving any serious punishment. I don’t stand to benefit from leaking the truth anyway, now that I’m no longer part of the MSF and have no interest in meddling with RB’s internal affairs. I’m only here as a representative of the Sentinel Academy. All I want is some pictures I can put on our magazines.”

“I would never hurt Daniel,” Max squeezes the words out from between his teeth.

For a split second, Rosberg’s expression becomes extremely complicated. But he is as good as ever at maintaining his polite smile. 

“I’ve heard many people say those words. I hope you’re different from them.”

“I’m Max Verstappen, not the ‘people’ you’re thinking of.”

“So, are we good now?” Rosberg looks at the gun in Max’s hand.

“Yes,” Max clicks the safety back on and places the gun on the desk behind him. Rosberg’s albatross flies back to its master. The lion also relaxes and lounges, allowing the black-footed cat to lie down in its fur. 

“Actually, I think we are very similar in some ways, Max.”

“I don’t think so,” replies Max scathingly. “At least I’m not going to abandon my duties to pursue a life of comfort.”

“You and I were born for the same purpose,” says Rosberg, “it’s just…you have to know what you believe in. You have to really believe in what you’re fighting for.”

“You don’t know a thing about me. I’m not a coward.”

Rosberg is obviously offended by this, but he simply looks outside the window and sighs.

“You’re still too young, Max. So young that you’re incapable of accepting anything less than absolutely perfect.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s about time for me to leave,” Rosberg combs his loose hair back with his fingers. “Thanks for your grand welcome, Max. Charles can also get some rest now.”

Charles doesn’t start speaking his mind until the last trace of Rosberg’s presence has disappeared from the room. 

“You lied to Rosberg.”

Max scratches his hair, lying back in bed.

“He didn’t notice. That’s good enough.”

“Am I supposed to know why?” Charles tries. Max seems conflicted. Realizing that he may have gotten himself too involved in this, Charles decides to leave. 

“Wait. You don’t have to go. I can tell you.”

The black-footed cat returns to the side of Max’s bed. Max holds it up with both hands like he would a doll, and places the cat in his lap. The cat is still nervous, but it doesn’t fight him. 

“All children of MSF Sentinels are listed and tracked by Plan Cradle. If they’re judged to have the potential to become an elite Sentinel, they’re trained from a very young age.”

The plexiglass tank filled with the special liquid. Charles immediately recalls the scene from Max’s dream. So Max was actually locked up in there, as part of his training. 

“Yes,” huffs Max, “Rosberg was part of Plan Cradle, too. My dad always made sure to ask more of his son than Rosberg’s did, because he wanted me to rise even higher in the ranks than Rosberg. Every MSF Sentinel has a number. You know how I got mine?”

The cat shakes its head.

“I was experimental subject number 33 of Plan Cradle.”

Nico walks out of the ward at a brisk pace. He needs to report Max’s condition to the Team RB medics without delay so as to not raise suspicions. The nurses’ station is right at the end of the corridor. Suddenly, he senses something and stops. 

The black panther treads softly, blocking his path. He immediately realizes whose spirit animal it is. 

“What a surprise. I thought you were on a mission.”

He struggles to maintain his smile, his facial muscles twitching slightly. Nico does not release his own spirit animal, because he knows that the albatross would fly away like he instinctively wants to right now, except that he has nowhere to go. Lewis leans on the wall in a corner, raising his gaze. The black panther growls at him. 

“You know how our team always finishes before the others.”

“We had some good times,” Nico tries to keep his panic in check. “I thought you didn’t want to see me, Lewis.”

“I didn’t. For a while.” Lewis raises a corner of his mouth in an almost-smile, “and I still don’t like your face now. You’re too good at those fake smiles, Nico.”

“I’ll leave,” says Nico.

“Why the hurry? Is it because the product of the project you invested in just pulled a gun on you in that ward? Or is it because of the kitty cat who made it into his brain? Oh, I guess most importantly, it’s because you’re realizing that things are spinning out of your control. You’re running from it again, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know exactly what you heard and from whom, but I think we have some serious misunderstandings between us,” Nico purses his lips. “I’m a father, too. I would never put my children through that kind of torture, so I was hoping to help these young men…they deserve another kind of future.”

“They want to become Lewis Hamilton, not you, Nico,” smirks Lewis. “Father, eh? How fitting it sounds. Is this what you wanted? Relying on medications to keep your oversensitive nerves in check, and pretending that you can live a normal life as a normal person?”

“There are things I have to protect, Lewis,” says Nico.

“And I am not one of them.”

“I’m sorry…”

“I’ve heard enough of that sentence,” says Lewis with a wave of his hand, “and it’s true, I don’t need you to protect me.”

Nico wants to hold Lewis. Kiss him. Do even more. It has nothing to do with what he thinks or feels. These reactions are instinctive between Sentinels and Guides who were once intimately bonded. Instinct. A convenient excuse indeed, convenient enough to allow him to bury a decade’s worth of feelings, and also convenient enough to explain why he doesn’t push Lewis away as the latter moves in. All the sharpened spines and venomous needles, the toxic loneliness and bitter resentment — all of it dissolves as their lips and tongues intertwine. God knows how desperately he has been aching for a kiss like this, desperate like the way Lewis is palming the back of his head right now. 

“I really did love you, Nico,” murmurs Lewis into his mouth. 

“You know I can’t give you any answer other than that one word.”

They fall quiet and simply stay glued to each other. Standing in a dimly-lit corner that few would pay attention to, they listen for each other’s heartbeat, savoring the heat from each other’s breath falling on their faces. Both choose to turn off their Sentinel senses and stick to feeling each other like ordinary people. 

“Nico,” says Lewis to his ear. He wishes that Lewis would shut up, because he still finds it impossible to fight the spiritual connection. They were once a bonded pair. No one else in the world will ever know them better. The damage he sustained when he forced himself to separate from Lewis was no lesser than the pain Lewis had to endure. 

“Nico. Nico. Call me by my name.”

Nico opens his eyes with great effort to see that Lewis’ expression is just as full of suffering. 

“Sorry.”

He wipes the cold sweat away from Lewis’ temple and discovers that his hands are shaking. Without realizing it, he once again inches closer to Lewis’ mouth, and exchanges another light, gentle kiss. He knows that he’s been undone. 

“I think we need to move somewhere else, Lewis.”


	14. Backstab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: rape/non-con.

An overly romantic beginning never bodes well for the end. That’s how Nico would sum up the relationship between him and Lewis. It was back when they were both still exploring their abilities and figuring out exactly what being a Sentinel meant to them. Suddenly, that very special soul appeared, and you knew that no one else in the world would be more in sync with you. You needed him, like a desert traveler needed water, like he needed you. It’s as if you were meant to share the same beating heart, but somehow resided in different bodies. 

That was why you could never become one. You were the two opposing poles of the Earth, positive and negative charges attracted to each other. Like a comet soaring through light-years of space on a trajectory of death, you were destined for ruin and implosion from the moment you met. Had they met later in life, after Nico has realized the limits of his endurance, or after Lewis has discovered that certain things were more important to him than romance, then perhaps they wouldn’t have ended up where they are. 

Perhaps they wouldn’t have kissed each other. 

And so they keep kissing once they enter Nico’s room. Nico makes a few attempts to fight it, but ends up having to admit that he is still desperately attracted to Lewis. He wants their relationship back on track, wants this to be less of an all-or-nothing kind of deal. He needs a proper goodbye, something to soften the pain of severing an overly complicated and intimate bond. Not like this. Not this. 

“You don’t talk to me. You never reply to my messages. You say ‘no’ to every friend and acquaintance I send your way,” Nico pushes Lewis away. His suit is already sprawled out on the carpet in the hallway, and his blond hair falls messily over his forehead. “Is this supposed to be a punishment? Or an accusation?”

Lewis shakes his head, “neither.”

Nico stumbles backwards and collapses into a reclining chair, his fingers digging into his hair. 

“We shouldn’t be meeting like this.”

“What were you hoping for?”

“I’ve calmed down,” Nico paces his breath, “we don’t have to do this. I’m a licensed Sentinel Counselor now. You don’t need an appointment, just come find me at the Academy.”

Lewis laughs grimly, “and then we’ll do what? Hypnosis sessions, meditations, mindful yoga? For Christ’s sake, you don’t think I actually believe in what the press secretary has me recite, do you? You know better than anyone that all those treatments are useless placebos. Only two things will end a Sentinel’s pain, orgasms and death.”

“Everyone experiences existential crises, whether they’re Sentinels or normal people,” Nico feels like he needs a drink. “But you…there are other ways you can deal with it. You’re more than just the MSF’s Chief Sentinel. There are things more important than honors and status. When you take notice of the thing that really calms you down, you’ll be set free.”

“And for you, the thing that set you free was Vivian, wasn’t it?”

Nico finds it impossible to look straight into Lewis’ smiling eyes. The spiritual barrier means nothing when he can feel everything that Lewis feels — every frantic thought, every fiery emotion, ensnaring his throat like a dense fog. 

“Christ.”

Nico can’t hold back his tears. He begins to sob from Lewis’ feelings. He never figured out how to explain all of this to his wife; Vivian is even still hoping that he and Lewis can make amends. He feels the phantom pain whenever Lewis is injured. Lewis’ fury makes him drop his bowl of flour. Lewis’ sadness makes him burst out crying while playing with his children. When Vivian asks him what is wrong, the only excuse he can resort to is “complications” from his Sentinel senses. 

The same happens to Lewis. Neither of them has been spared this fate. 

“Nico,” Lewis wipes away Nico’s tears and has the blond man look him straight in the eye, “you know the answer.”

_No. Please. Don’t say it._

“You are what sets me free.”

It’s not real. This cannot be real. He knows that Lewis is invading his consciousness, but he has no power to resist it. His instincts are also aching to bond with his Sentinel. Lewis wants him, Lewis longs for him, and Lewis will conquer him. This is not what Nico was hoping for, but the tsunami of Lewis’ emotions has left him shattered and in pieces. He can no longer even begin to tell which part of his feelings are real. 

_Light a fire on my skin. Hold me. Kiss me. Offer yourself to me like Abel offered the lamb._

Lewis tosses Nico’s shirt to the other end of the room. He feels like he is floating, a spectator of a grotesque erotic show. Nico has long since thought that Lewis has an unusual look in his eye, icy yet affectionate, like frost on the roof of a church. _What are you looking at? Who are you praying to? Are you here to rescue the mortals from their sins, or to berate them for their depravation?_

“I remember the first time I saw you,” Lewis looks down at him. “Your father pushed you out to say hello to me. You know what I thought back then?”

He realizes that he is being entered by another man, yet he feels content, fulfilled, elated, joyful. Lewis wipes the sweat from his eye with a thumb, planting a few soft, merciful kisses. 

“I thought, what a golden boy. He looks so pure and perfect. So perfect that he seems meant to be broken. I hated you for everything you had, but I was also obsessed with what all of that made you into. That’s why I had to have you. I had to make you an outcast and a sinner like me.”

Nico arches himself up involuntarily to match Lewis’ movements. His senses instinctively follow his desires, heading for every point of contact between their skin. He even enters Lewis’ consciousness, where fireworks light up the sky above the grand, empty palace, and fall desolately to the ground without an audience. 

_Come on in, Lewis._ His consciousness is melting away, dissolving in the sea of color of those mental fireworks. Lewis’ fingers sink into his skin, then his muscles, bones, organs, and soul. 

“Huh. Ibiza, right?”

Lewis smirks.

 _No, please, don’t go in any deeper._ Every electric pulse merges into a single ray of light, illuminating the one and only safe place for him. Here, he is completely unguarded. This is a place to momentarily rest his soul; the coastline is always clear and turquoise-blue, and there is only tranquility and safety. 

“I can make you go insane right here and now, you know,” Lewis caresses Nico’s cheeks, then the artery in his neck, his collarbones, his heart. He knows that he should be afraid. Instead, he just wants to offer himself up to Lewis. The black panther stands next to their bed, the albatross limp and dying between its fangs. 

_I’m probably injured._ Nico knows that his senses can’t be trusted, but there is no way that he could have been unhurt from Lewis’ violent movements. His sense of pain has been suppressed, and like an addict on an excess of hallucinogenics, he can only feel the pleasure drowning him. 

“You won’t tell anyone what you saw or heard tonight,” Lewis seals Nico’s lips with his own, “because you can’t. Not any more.”

In that very moment, all of Nico’s feelings return to his body. He immediately grabs the edge of the bed and begins retching. His extreme fear has him shaking from head to toe, and the searing pain in his lower body makes him sick. His spirit animal shrinks and retreats behind the curtain. To avoid looking any worse in front of Lewis, he has to fight to catch his breath between successive waves of urges to throw up. 

Lewis puts on his clothes while enjoying the view of Nico throwing up. Finally, Nico manages to raise his face to look at Lewis. His voice is hoarse.

“…I wasn’t going to tell them.”

“I needed a fail-safe,” Lewis takes a glass from the cabinet and pours himself some sparkling water. “Thanks for teaching me to not trust anyone.”

“You raped me,” Nico feels sadness rather than shame as the word leaves his mouth, “this is rape.”

“Go ahead then, take the surveillance video and tell everyone that I raped you,” Lewis sounds like he just heard an absurd joke. “Every Sentinel knows the kind of ridiculous attraction that exists between bonded Sentinels and Guides. Surely you didn’t expect that to change just because you’ve married a woman and had a couple of kids.”

Nico starts to laugh. He realizes now that there are actually tears on his face. 

“Admit it, Lewis. You are just afraid. Afraid that I’m going to hurt you with my knowledge of you and my influence over you. That’s why you feel like you need to control me, to have something to threaten me with. You are such a coward that you can’t trust anyone.”

The black panther’s roar answers him instead of Lewis’ voice. The albatross struggles to stand, its once-proud wings broken. It limps back to its master on its two feet. Nico picks up his own spirit animal and meets the black panther’s gaze. 

“I’ll admit that I made some mistakes…albatrosses stay with just one partner for all of their lives, but I fell in love with two people.”

Lewis looks at the wall. The black panther still paws the ground distrustfully, baring its fangs. 

He thought that it would be simple, that Lewis would understand him, as naturally as it was for them to enter each other’s spiritual world during all those years that they fought alongside each other. 

“I made my choice,” says Nico, “I didn’t choose you. Not because of anything you or I did. It’s just that…our paths had to part there. I didn’t abandon you. I still need you. You know that. You must understand that.”

Lewis is silent. The silence feels as long as a century. He tries to see something in Lewis’ distant and polite expression, something he’s been hoping for. But Lewis remains silent, like a stature in a memorial hall.

“But I love you,” says Lewis, “I fucking loved you. I have only ever loved you and you alone.”

Nico palms his forehead. He knows that it’s not fair. It has never been. He and Lewis are not equal where love is concerned. Lewis’ life experience has made it impossible for him to have a fulfilling and balanced intimate relationship like Nico’s. Lewis can only seize onto whatever he can, conquering and pillaging until he either fully possesses them or destroys them. Until he is truly and utterly alone. 

“It’s just…I don’t understand why we had to become like this.”

“Because you are Nico Rosberg, and I am Lewis Hamilton.”

“You know that’s not true,” Nico looks at him accusingly, “there is another reason. Does Toto know that you came to look for me tonight?”

“Fuck Toto,” sneers Lewis, “you better stay away from the MSF Sentinels if you know what’s good for you. I don’t care if it’s Max, Charles, or any of the others. This is my territory and I call the shots. The MSF will never agree to let the Academy send resident Sentinel Counselors here, Ambassador. So get packed and get out.”

“Do you want Max and Charles to become like you and me?” asks Nico.

“I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.” Lewis rises to his feet, the sarcasm in his smile intensifying. “You’re going to be the first and last deserter of the MSF. Max is the crazy boy your project has produced. Horner just wants him on a leash, which is why he’s forcing Max on Daniel. You guys, on the other hand, want Max to be tame and controllable so you can replicate his success, which is why you’re thinking of using Charles. But you, your Academy, and whomever Horner represents — you’re all just short-sighted profit seekers. The instinct of the Sentinel is to battle and conquer. Only a Sentinel can become a real Guide, because only a Sentinel can bring out the most basic instincts in another Sentinel.”

Lewis smiles. A chilling, bloodthirsty smile. 

“The desire to murder and destroy.”


	15. Phantom Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: continued mentions of rape/non-con.

As soon as Lewis steps into the office, he grabs onto a trashcan and starts throwing up. Toto Wolff, who is in charge of Team M, walks up to Lewis from behind the desk and hands him an unopened bottle of water. 

“Fuck,” mutters Lewis, “fuck.”

His legs still have no strength in them, and he has to kneel on the ground while enduring the phantom pain and sickness inside his body. Raping Nico was not pleasurable for him in the least. In fact, the pain he felt from it far exceeded his victim’s. To keep Nico under control, Lewis had to numb Nico’s senses during most of it, leaving him to consume the bitter fruit of his deeds alone. 

Toto sits down next to the Sentinel and quickly notices the scratch marks on Lewis’ neck and back. 

“Did you…”

“It was the easiest way to control his mind,” Lewis spits the water into the trashcan after rinsing his mouth, “he barely resisted. If he ever tries to tell anyone about tonight, his subconscious will block him with pain and shame.”

“I never said that you had to commit a criminal act,” says Toto patiently. 

“But you did say that you were not going to tell me how to do my job, as long as you and I shared the same basic interests.”

“Very well,” Toto sounds displeased, but he has never been one to interfere much in the lives of his Sentinels. The freedom he gives them might have been exactly the reason that Lewis and Nico ended up where they are today. Nico retiring with the title of Chief Sentinel was the best recompense Toto felt like he could have made, given all of Nico’s contributions to Team M. He hadn’t expected it to upset Lewis the way it did. 

Lewis understands why Toto did what he did. Of course he does; he just doesn’t want to accept it. To him, losing Nico was like a child realizing that Santa Claus does not exist. Whatever dreams and hopes he had left for this world, whatever vestiges of tenderness and affection remained in him — all of those died when Nico left. 

He refuses to accept that he has never been the one and only to anybody. 

Once Lewis is finally able to stand, Toto returns to his chair. He sits down and says in a low voice, “do you have anything to report to me?”

“You can stop worrying that Nico will say anything at the hearing that’s going to make the MSF look bad. The Academy won’t have enough to be able to persuade the Committee that it’s necessary to have resident Sentinel Counselors in the MSF,” Lewis reverts back to his fake, polite façade. “The Sentinel Academy has always wanted to plant some of its own into the MSF’s ranks. But the MSF needs to maintain its independence in terms of organizational structure and personnel selection — otherwise we’ll find ourselves manipulated by forces we’d rather not have to deal with…at least now, with three different financial groups, the checks and balances work to our advantage.”

“My top concern right now is to maintain the strategic partnership between Daimler and the MSF. As long as they’re in the game, your Chief Sentinel title won’t be up for grabs that easily,” says Toto. “I don’t know what kind of strings Nico is trying to pull here. Actually, I couldn’t read him very well even back when he was still in the MSF. Now he’s visiting as an ambassador of the Academy, and apparently he’s also going to be at the hearing. I can’t help but think that he’s planning to use our error in this mission to paint the MSF in a bad light. But what’s in it for him?”

“He hates me,” says Lewis, his expression blank, “that’s what’s in it for him.”

“…”

Toto seems at a loss for words. Lewis decides not to point out that Toto is passing the buck here, even though they both know that Nico was the one to break their agreement first. Lewis retaliated immediately, and things spun out of control, up until Nico’s eventual departure from the MSF. He did ask Nico why it was so important for him to win the Chief Sentinel title, important enough that Nico was using every means at his disposal to put pressure on the team. Nico’s answer was simple — so simple that to this day, he still hasn’t accepted it. 

_I want to end all of this, Lewis._

_What exactly is it that you can no longer put up with? Why do you have to abandon me, and the career you’ve been fighting all of your life for? Why are you pitting yourself against the team and organization you were loyal to? Why abandon your brother in arms, your teammate, the only person in the world able to enter the depths of your soul?_ He asked all of these questions and more, but Nico just shook his head and tried to put his arms around Lewis.

Lewis pushed him away.

_Don’t you pity me. Don’t even try to placate me with your cheap affections. I’m not a lost child, I’m Lewis Hamilton, the most powerful and best Sentinel and warrior in the world._

Yet Nico looked like he was in such pain that Lewis couldn’t help but pity him. Damned spiritual connection. He couldn’t keep himself from feeling attached to and caring for his Guide. 

_I had to win it…and this is the price I must pay. I don’t expect you to understand this, Lewis, but I still love you. You are an indispensable part of me. We’ve known each other almost all of our lives. So please, don’t do this to me, don’t—_

Lewis stops reminiscing. He doesn’t even know if he spaced out voluntarily or only because of Nico’s mental activities hundreds of meters away. He starts to look for his spiritual barrier, so as to put a lid on the many thoughts fluttering in his head. Only three years have elapsed since then, yet his memories are already splotchy and distorted. He has trouble telling exactly what was said and done, and how much of it is his brain making up and seeing things. 

By the time Lewis comes to himself again, Toto has long since resumed talking. 

“…How is Max Verstappen doing?”

“He got trapped in his own memories, but he’s awake now. Leclerc pulled him out of his coma.”

“Christian is not going to be happy about that,” Toto raps his fingers on the table, “his precious Max getting all chummy and mixed up with the boy wonder of Team SF. Max is the type to try to get the Guide he wants using whatever means necessary. It’s going to be a big problem for Mattia, too.”

“I don’t think so,” says Lewis. “Max is not what we expected he would be like. I don’t know whose influence to chalk it up to, but he hasn’t tried to control Daniel even once in the past several years. Injuring Daniel was most likely not his intention this time around, either. He’s not the type to get back at his teammate during a mission. The SSG Sentinels are experts at launching spiritual attacks, and using Max to attack Daniel would have been killing two birds with one stone.”

“The SSG still hasn’t claimed responsibility for these kidnappings,” says Toto, “it’s rather uncharacteristic of them. The Sentinel Self-Defense Force likes to parade their power and prove their point that Sentinels are a superior race. I even think that this was their way of feeling us out, to see how the MSF Sentinels would measure up against theirs.”

“Then I should have been their priority target. Or is the SSG too chicken for that?”

“Charles is new,” Toto points out the key factor.

“That would make sense. But something still feels a bit off…I can’t quite put my finger on it, though. Maybe my mission was just too easy.”

“Or maybe you are just too good, Lewis. If you’re wondering why the SSG didn’t try to kill any of them, their operating principle is actually to never kill a Sentinel. To these terrorists, every Sentinel is one of their own, a superior race of human beings.”

Lewis narrows his eyes. He isn’t naive enough to believe every word that Toto says to him, especially after Nico snatched the Chief Sentinel title from him. Complete honesty is probably not the best policy between him and Toto, but he doesn’t mind keeping up the appearances of mutual respect and cooperation. They are indispensable partners to each other, at least for now. 

“Regardless, I’m glad that our teammates were able to return to us and recover,” Lewis changes the topic, “what would you suggest I wear at the hearing?”

At the other end of the base, Max and Charles have little idea that they are being emphatically discussed elsewhere. Max sits in bed and tells Charles’ spirit animal what he had to go through as a child. The other boy’s brows become increasingly furrowed. 

“Your dad was a big jerk,” concludes Charles. “My dad would never send me into a research facility like some experiment animal. He’s no longer around, but I know for sure that he would never. No normal dad would do that.”

“I just wanted him to be happy, and he kind of is now, so…I guess I just didn’t want to dwell on it,” Max rubs the cat’s ears, “since he’s still my dad and all.”

“What does Rosberg have to do with this plan you mentioned? He’s got to be more than just a product of it.”

“He’s now an ambassador of the Academy. It’s not a position of real power, but with the Academy’s influence backing him, he can supervise and even criticize the MSF’s conduct on behalf of public opinion,” Max looks at the walls around him. “I’m not interested in the politics of it at all, but when you’re part of the plan, you also become part of its politics. I just find this kind of thing annoying.”

“That’s the way all things are. Once it happens to you, you have no choice but to accept it,” the green-eyed boy puts his arms around his own knees in another ward of the medical wing. “Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if Jules’ death could have been avoided. I don’t have all the details, but Jules kept in contact with me spiritually up until the moment he went off life support. I knew that he was in a lot of pain, with all the tubes and needles in him and all the times that they had to revive him. But I couldn’t make up my mind. Neither of us could.”

“Now we both have to let go.”

A moment of silence, and then Max suddenly speaks. “Would you mind letting…sharing your spiritual world with me? I mean, after everything you did for me…”

“You don’t owe me anything,” smiles Charles, “you needed help. Everybody needs help sometimes. Think of it as me returning your favor.”

Max is confused. “Have we…met before?”

Charles sighs in resignation. It takes him the next few minutes to remind Max of what happened when they first met each other: the argument and everything that followed. Max apparently finds it impossible to believe, his face scrunched up incredulously. 

“Are you saying that I got second place in a competition because of you? That’s bull. I never got anything other than first place in the junior categories.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised at all if that was the reason you blocked these memories out,” Charles has to fight hard to not roll his eyes so that his spirit animal won’t look too dismissively at Max. “You won the year after that, by the way.”

“Oh, I guess that explains it then,” Max grins and rubs the cat’s belly. The black-footed cat wants to escape, but it can only meow its protest under Max’s claws. “I wish I still remembered how I entered your spiritual world that day. Maybe I would have been able to do some things better if I did.”

“Like beating me on the day of the exam?” quips Charles. 

“Like that, yeah,” laughs Max.

“You know what, Max? When I first saw you at the MSF, I thought you were an overconfident, arrogant jerk,” says Charles, “that’s why I didn’t want to associate you with the person who once helped me. But as it turns out, you may not be so bad after all.”

“So are you going to try being a fan now?”

“Fuck off.”

“Don’t fall in love with me, kitty cat,” Max drawls in a fake voice. The black-footed cat paws him angrily and makes a run for the wall. Max flexes his shoulder and looks at the digital clock on his nightstand. 

“Are you going to bed, Charles?”

“Since you’re being an annoying Sleeping Beauty and a subpar conversation partner, my answer is ‘yes’.”

“Be careful on your way back, there could be other Sentinels who are having trouble sleeping.”

“Like you’re the one to talk. The black-footed is the most successful hunter among cats. Beats your lion by a mile,” the cat yawns at Max, stretching with its front paws to the ground. Charles is feeling sleepy, too. “Good night, Max.”

“Good night, Charles.”


	16. Carousel

Daniel opens his eyes.

The train glides evenly forward. The interior decoration brings to mind old steam locomotives crossing the American continent more than a hundred years ago: kerosene lamps, wooden chairs, newspaper and sawdust scattered on the floor. He has a revolver in his holster and a Eastwood-esque cowboy cape on his shoulders. Complete with the rolling dust storm outside the window, this looks no different from the scene he has already seen in his dreams thousands of times. 

This is his safe place, the most hidden and secure location in his spiritual world. To relieve the pressure of their superhuman senses, most Sentinels construct safe places for themselves. Nothing appears there without their permission. It’s a place to store beautiful memories, lovely objects. as well as everything that makes them feel at peace, everything they can trust. 

Daniel knows that he did not stumble into the depths of his consciousness all by himself. He recalls the pain he felt when Max’s spirit animal attacked him. He looks down at his own body and discovers that his abdomen is still bleeding. 

“You’re not going to die.”

A handsome young man stands in front of Daniel and smooths over the wound with his hand. He is wearing a wool suit and a tie made from quality silk. He has a nice set of features, the only minor flaw being his somewhat irregular teeth. It somehow makes his smile gentler and even more charming. 

“Jules,” smiles Daniel, relieved, “long time no see.”

“I’ve been waiting here for you,” Jules sits down in front of him and pours them both a glass of sparkling wine, “any news?”

“You know all there is to know already. You’re a part of my consciousness, after all,” laughs Daniel. “You and I weren’t even actually that close when you were alive. I don’t know why you are in my safety place, as if you’d been here from the very beginning. Maybe my subconscious is making you up because you are dead.”

“It’s because you have regrets and guilt in you. You want to be able to change more things, but you don’t know how,” Jules offers him the truth, smiling. The real Jules would never have talked this way. The flip side of humor is sarcasm, just like the flip side of Daniel is cynicism, detachedness, and self-isolation. A cheerful smile always works better than a distant poker face. He’s managed to fool almost everyone into believing that Daniel Ricciardo is a strong, upbeat, excellent Guide who can stay optimistic in the face of any adversity. 

Yet the train of his soul has been moving in a closed circle, like a merry-go-round that never really goes anywhere. 

“Everything you abandoned is buried here. Family, love, dreams, beliefs, freedom. Have you ever really loved anyone? Or are you just good at coming back here to mourn after you’ve lost them?”

“You’re right,” despite himself, Daniel feels relieved, “it’s been a long time since I’ve really loved anyone. My first girlfriend’s family moved after discovering that I was a Sentinel. I know that real love is out of my reach. Being a Sentinel and an MSF soldier means that no matter whom I bond with, I’ll just end up being capital to be fought over. The only way I can resist that fate is to stay alone.”

“So you hurt Max, wounding yourself doubly in the process.”

“Exactly.”

“A sad story.”

“All comedies are absurd and sad at the core.”

He raises the glass with the dead. A war is unfolding outside of their window, cowboy riders chasing Indians down with guns while other immigrants in fine clothing are dragged around like livestock and scalped by the Native warriors. 

“We all have to make choices. We choose whom we stand with, whether to murder or rescue, destroy or create, exploit or resist. Robbery has been a part of civilization from the very start. We rob each other and Mother Nature of everything we can and cannot see, be it a planet at the other end of the galaxy or a place in someone’s heart.” Jules opens the window, and the heat and dust rush in. He can barely keep his eyes open in the wind. “What distinguishes the robber and the robbed? Which one is born superior?”

“It’s fear. The most primal fear — the fear of the hunted. We’re afraid of being robbed, so we raise our weapons to rob others. Daniel, your thoughts are thorough and profound like a philosopher’s, but your feelings are sensitive and fragile like a poet’s. No one really knows you, and perhaps no one ever will. It’s not because you turned them down, either. It’s just that no one can see through all of your masks to reach this untamed wasteland.”

“Perhaps you were the one who came the closest,” Daniel studies Jules’ face, “you had this powerful inspiration…almost as powerful as fate itself, hovering between life and death. This is why I can’t let other people into my spiritual world. I have to hide you from them.”

Jules purses his lips and smiles. Daniel exhales.

“You’re not dead, are you?”

“What do you think?”

“You still exist somewhere in this world,” Daniel puts the revolver on the table, pressing its handle with his right hand. “You’ve been planted here by someone. You have a message for me. That would explain why Jules would appear so deep in my consciousness, even though I didn’t know him that well.”

“Very interesting deduction. I’m listening.”

“I was the first Sentinel on the scene after Jules was attacked. I immediately tried to wake him up, and maintained my spiritual connection to him during his helicopter ride to the hospital. After that, I started seeing you in the depths of my consciousness.”

“Could be a form of PTSD.”

“Except that you didn’t become a disease,” says Daniel, “you became a part of me. You’re Jules, aren’t you?”

The young man who will always remain twenty-five smiles shily at him. He remembers this smile. When he met Jules for the first time at the training center, this was the smile the Frenchman gave him when he sheepishly asked Daniel for help. 

_Sorry, could you help me check if the vending machine has a problem?_

_Oh, it does that all the time. You’re new, right? You want an energy drink?_

“You know the answer, Daniel,” Jules squeezes his right hand. The dust storm is picking up speed, and Jules has to shout now for Daniel to hear him. “You need to leave!”

“Wai—“

Daniel is thrown out of his own dream before he can finish the word. He is sore all over, has a pulsing headache, and feels like he has just been spit out of a whale’s stomach. A sense of discomfort is wrapped around him like seaweed. He realizes that he is in a ward, with a doctor’s relieved face next to him, to which he has no energy left to respond. 

He remembers what Jules didn’t have time to say to him. This is the weird thing about spiritual worlds: Jules’ voice still lingers in his ears.

_Both you and I are protecting whom we love, in the manner we choose._

Daniel closes his eyes and lies back down on his pillow. He hopes he can still manage some dreamless sleep. 

“Charles.”

As soon as he hears the door being pushed open, Charles shuts his eyes and pretends to be deep asleep. Not turning on the lights, Seb sits down on the sofa.

“I know you’re awake.”

Charles does not turn his head around. The black-footed cat’s ears prick up from behind the blanket, as a kind of greeting. 

“How are you doing?” asks Seb.

“…Not bad. My chest hurts a little.”

“You’re making good progress. If you need painkillers, I can go get the doctor.”

“I feel fine. Painkillers make me drowsy. I can just sleep.”

“Are you sleeping okay?”

“Pretty good,” says Charles, “thanks for asking.”

Seb can’t help but shake his head a little.

“Mattia didn’t send me. I’m just checking in on you personally as your teammate. You don’t have to be so guarded around me.”

“Thanks,” says Charles, turning to look at Seb, “but I mean it.”

“You still don’t have a Guide.”

“I’ve been in counseling. You know the Institute offers specialized training to help Sentinels adapt to different working environments. I also go see counselors now. They have been vetted by the team, of course.”

“You’ve never gone to the same counselor for more than a month, and it’s been eight months since you last visited one,” says Seb. “Are you on any central nervous system depressants?”

“No,” says Charles unhesitatingly.

“I kind of wish you were,” mutters Seb, “because you can’t be having the easiest time.”

Charles blinks.

“I’m very sorry that I was the reason your partner had to leave…”

“That’s not necessary,” Seb interrupts him, “don’t pretend that you didn’t deserve it with all your hard work. Kimi and I don’t need you to apologize for anything. We all know the rules of the MSF. Missions are important, but politics are important, too. You’re a great advertisement. Young, powerful, with a touching backstory. The Committee likes you, as will the general public. It’s just…I don’t even know whether I should be saying these things to you or not.”

Seb falls abruptly silent. Charles is puzzled, but does not speak. After a moment, a squirrel hops onto Charles’ bed and leans into his ear.

_Don’t trust anyone._

_Including you?_

_If you think it’s necessary, yes, don’t trust even me._

_Why?_

_You’ll see._

Seb raises an eyebrow. Charles knows that their real conversation is over. Pretending to have just woken up from his spiritual world, Seb starts speaking in a grave voice.

“I’m very sorry about Jules’ accident. The only thing I can do is to keep carrying out my missions, but you’ll inherit his dreams and accomplish what he couldn’t.”

“I think that’s also what Jules would have wanted,” says Charles, exchanging a knowing look with Seb.

“If you need a Guide, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you so much.”

The door closes again. Charles unclenches his fists, his fingernails leaving deep indent marks in his palms. Perhaps he can go find Max. The thought crosses his mind, but he quickly dismisses it. He sensed the unease in Seb the moment Seb appeared in the room. He knows that some things are happening, but everyone around him seems too busy with their own circumstances to offer him any guidance. 

Strangely, his intuition tells him that Max is not going to change because of it. Being with Max does not make him feel safe. It’s completely different from the kind of support he used to receive from Jules. He becomes stimulated, sharp, full of aggression. His blood thaws and begins to boil once again. His senses turn into claws and fangs, like the wind over the prairie, the fire inside the earth, the lightning piercing the clouds, and the thundering inbound tide. 

All of this makes him feel alive again. It reminds him that he is still a warrior, and will always be a warrior.

Charles’ heart slowly settles down in his chest. 


	17. Hide and Seek

All of a sudden, Charles is not talking to Max any more. It started when Max tried to visit Charles once the latter was able to walk. He didn’t get to see Charles, but he figured that with the size of the Azerbaijan base, he was bound to bump into Charles sooner or later. As it turns out, Charles always manages to quickly walk away before he can start a conversation. 

Max is puzzled and wounded. Staring at Pierre and Charles talking cheerfully two tables away from him, he chews angrily on his straw. The two boys are speaking French to each other, their pronunciation softer than usual. He feels the joy and trust between them from the tendrils he secretly threw their way. Suddenly he just can’t take it anymore. He walks to the table with his tray, sitting down next to Charles.

Pierre’s eyes widen, his gaze falling on Max and Charles in turn. Charles gracefully wipes his mouth clean with the napkin, picks up his tray, and smiles at Pierre.

“ _Je suis rassasié_.”

“ _Au revoir?_ ”

“ _Ciao._ ”

Max sits alone, his expression souring. Charles simply pretends that he doesn’t exist. After saying goodbye to Pierre, he goes straight off to return his tray. The Frenchman looks at Max awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

“…Good evening?”

“Not good at all,” says Max stiffly, “it feels like shit when someone’s ignoring you.”

“Oh, it really does. But I think you’ll get used to it…wait, Max! Don’t yell at me with your spirit animal!”

There are no other Sentinels in the cafeteria, so Max purposefully has his lion walk a circle around them before calling his spirit animal back to him. Pierre exhales and admonishes him in a disbelieving tone, “I don’t think that’s going to solve your problem.”

“Sorry,” says Max, not meaning it.

“It’s just that…this is the way Charles is. I don’t really know which is worse, him ignoring you, or him pretending to smile at you.” Pierre scratches the hairs on the back of his neck, “he’s not the easiest to get along with, if you’re trying to make friends with him.”

“So how did you two become friends?”

Pierre smiles sheepishly, “we grew up together. We’ve slept in the same bed, stayed up playing games all night with our friends, and got ourselves caught drinking at the Institute. We did quite a lot of stupid things.”

Max keeps chewing on his straw. His memories of the Institute and its dorm life are limited and short. Part of the reason was that he joined the MSF early, and the other part was his father depriving him of that kind of childhood. He never regretted it, though, because he knew that he was going to become the MSF’s Chief Sentinel and its best warrior. He hasn’t realized until now that he has no idea what kind of life Charles has led, or how to make friends with someone his own age. 

Pierre observes Max carefully, “did something happen between you and him?”

“I just wanted to thank him for partnering with me in the battle,” says Max, “and tell him I’m glad that he’s walking around again.”

“I thought you two didn’t get along,” says Pierre, “he doesn’t really talk about you. The way you walked over here, I thought you were going to fight him.”

“Sucks for him then, if he hasn’t got the balls to sit next to me,” says Max.

“Maybe that’s why you can’t be friends with Charles,” Pierre points out.

“I’m not interested in being friends with him,” says Max gruffly, although he does lean himself forward a bit. “You’re a Guide?”

“Hmm. It’s the first time you asked anything about me.”

“Just tell me.”

Pierre shrugs tolerantly, “yes. But I’ve never been Charles’ Guide, out of respect as a friend. Of course, his spiritual world is also quite difficult to enter.”

“So have you ever…” Max tries to look for a less explicit word, but Pierre gets it instantly.

“Bonded? No, I haven’t. You need to be very cautious about that. A bond between a Sentinel and a Guide is irreversible. It’s much worse than marriage…at least with a wife or husband, you get to choose how you want to live with them, and you can even divorce them. You can’t just severe your connection to a spiritual partner. And at the end of the day, you don’t get to bond to someone just because you want them. You need to both be that very special person to each other.” Pierre scoops up some pudding, “it’s a fascinating kind of relationship, but also extremely dangerous. We’ve all seen how ugly it can become.”

“Lewis would sue you for that,” they both laugh. Max keeps asking, “so once they’re bonded, are they all going to…”

Max makes a sexual gesture with his hands. Pierre is visibly amused by his conservatism. 

“When you resonate on a spiritual level, it’s true that sexual attraction often follows. But these bonds are a much more long-lasting kind of passion than anything you feel at first sight…I’ve seen its power. It transcends time and space. There is no scientific explanation for it. It’s almost telepathic. Your partner’s feelings are also your feelings, and their pains are your pains. It’ll never go away for as long as you are alive. Even after you die…sorry.”

Pierre suddenly stops himself, seemingly realizing that he just disclosed something overly private to the wrong conversation partner. Max wants to yell at Pierre, tell him that Charles has already seen all of his memories, that he has the right to know everything Charles went through, that it’s not fair, that he can do more, that he doesn’t want to put up with Charles’ coldness, that he hates being rejected and abandoned…

—that he wants Charles to stay. To stay for him. 

Pierre senses that Max’s mood has changed. Damned Guides.

“You do care about Charles a lot,” says Pierre tentatively.

Max doesn’t answer. He’s never been very good at concealing his feelings, and it doesn’t take a particularly astute Sentinel to see through them. He has never been troubled by it; after all, there is no need to hold back his anger in battle. 

Oh, yes, the anger. He’s been angry all along.

The fawn butts its head softly against his arm. Guides are such magical creatures. They seem to just know how to watch out for other people’s feelings. Max feels a bit better now, but neither of them want to dive any deeper into the other’s spiritual world. 

“Did anything happen between you two?” asks Pierre, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t think it’s necessary. Just remember that with Charles, you need to be pretty patient…I can maybe try to tell him that you meant well, but it’s going to take time. Neither of you are the…stable type.”

Max pouts, knowing full well that Pierre is speaking the truth. Had Guiding been in the cards for him at all, it would have manifested itself before adulthood. Charles is even less of a Guide than he is. Docile and harmless as he may look, no Sentinel would misinterpret Charles’ aura — the aura that exudes sadness like a constant, drizzling rain. 

They will never become like Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg, or Sebastian Vettel and Kimi Raikkonen. Neither he nor Charles is the one each other needs, even if Max’s soul is screaming to him that he must have Charles, that he can’t afford to pass up on this Sentinel who smells like rain, especially now that he has given up on further reciprocation from Daniel. He has always followed his intuition, but this time he is not so certain. Some things are changing him, slowly but surely. Maybe it was when he realized that he had hurt Daniel’s feelings. Maybe it was when, despite knowing that his fangs are about to pierce the honey badger’s jugular, he couldn’t stop his killer instinct from rejoicing within him. 

Charles may be much more fragile than Max thinks, and that may be why he refuses to let others into his spiritual world. Max is starting to understand that others feel pain, too — that what he thinks is correct may not be the best solution. He is starting to realize that love is more complicated and profound than desire, and it’s about far more than just simple possession. 

_God._ He loves Charles. Is that even possible?

“Max, what are you…confused about?” Pierre asks gingerly, not really knowing what to expect with Max. Max ruffles his carefully styled hair and gets to his feet, looking restless.

“I need to get back to the barracks.”

Pierre still sounds worried, “you can talk to me any time, if you need to.”

“Thanks. You’re a really good Guide, Pierre.”

Max is still restless, perhaps even more than before. It’s been a while since he’s seen Daniel. His Guide seems to have been busy answering the endless questions from Horner and the Committee. The hearing will take place soon, and if Nico Rosberg tells people that he was the one who almost killed Daniel’s spirit animal, the Sentinel Academy will no doubt seize this opportunity to ramp up pressure on the MSF. He can only pray that Rosberg will keep quiet, or that someone else will prevent Rosberg from speaking at the hearing. 

Regardless, he can feel that things are happening, that some irreversible decisions are about to be made, so much so that his heart is preparing him for it. He doesn’t want Daniel to leave him, even if he and Daniel are never going to be bonded. He enjoys the partnership, relishes Daniel’s affection and the perks that come with it. But he also realizes that certain romantic passions have faded. He no longer fantasizes about Daniel’s body or about further intimacy with him. He wants Daniel to be well, to have a life he really enjoys, even if it means that Max will not be part of it — because he loves Daniel, and he is a grown man now who knows what love is and how to love. 

He has no idea how to face Charles, however. He is willing to believe that Charles would never use his secrets to harm or attack him. Just like Max, Charles has too much pride as a Sentinel to resort to such underhanded competitive tactics. But he can’t shake his feeling of unease. The thorny melancholy he senses in Charles, those understatements — piling up like snow that feels like it could collapse any second. It all seems so beautiful and calm, to the point that it almost suffocates him. 

What does the world feel like to a Sentinel who has experienced their partner’s death? What were Jules and Charles like? Were they lovers, even though Charles was a minor? Did they sleep together?

 _You need to stop, Max._ A stern but gentle voice is coming from his mind. _This is baseless conjecture. It’s going to hurt you, and it’s going to hurt him._

_He’s already hurting me._ Max pulls at his hair. _Why is he avoiding me? Wasn’t he the one who woke me up from my memories, and told me all those things about himself?_

_You know he’s sensitive. Even fragile. Maybe he is confused, just like you are. You have to be patient._

Max takes several deep breaths, feeling much calmer. His head is clear now, and his decision is made. 

_I am patient. But sometimes you just need to not know when to quit._

The voice is full of smiles now. 

_Go ahead, Max. Unleash your beast._


	18. Throw-In

Charles has indeed been avoiding Max. He knew right off the bat that Max is not the type to let go of him easily, especially after all the secrets they’ve shared. But right now he can’t bring himself to do anything about his relationship with Max. Ever since Seb showed up for that late-night “counseling session”, he’s realized that he can no longer pretend to be clueless about what’s happening around him. He may well end up being a villain one day. In fact, he has already hurt the interests of many people, including Seb and Kimi, when he joined Team SF. He is a warrior, but he’s also an advertisement for attracting investment; he must comply with the Committee’s wishes and keep treading the correct trajectory, even if it means hurting others. 

Because this is what would have happened to Jules. This was Jules’ destiny, and he is inheriting it. To make both Jules’ and his dream come true, he has paid his price to the ones who control this game: freedom, self, and any unrealistic expectations he had for this world. _Not too bad,_ thinks Charles. _This way, Jules will always remain pure and perfect. He’ll always be remembered. Always be loved._

He didn’t learn until after Jules’ death what a Sentinel-Guide bond usually leads to, but he can swear that there was never anything more than mutual respect between them. Jules loved someone else, but Jules also cared deeply and lovingly for his Sentinel, the boy who would feign illness to avoid school. Everything made sense. It was as if Jules had always been waiting for Charles, and Charles was born to meet Jules. 

Yet the story ended, just like that. He had thought that he’d be able to fight alongside Jules, attend Jules’ wedding, win the Chief Sentinel title, retire, and grow old among his family and friends. But none of that is going to happen now. Not any more. He will never be able to accept another Guide, because his spirit has been torn in half. A part of his soul has turned into ashes with Jules’ body. He is no longer complete, and the gaping hole inside him will never be filled. It will only grow bigger as his losses mount, until it swallows up all of his hopes. 

He can live with this hollowness inside him. Charles clutches his chest as it starts to ache again. He can. He has to. He once consulted an academic specializing in the emotions of loss, who explained that phantom pain is the most common symptom in Sentinels experiencing separation or loss. In severe cases, it leads to PTSD; something like his first panic attack can happen to him again in the presence of the right triggers.

Charles does not entirely buy this explanation, however. He’s been refusing medication, both because he needs to keep his senses sharp, and because he believes his pain to be proof that Jules is still with him. He has always felt that Jules has never left, even if no one else believes him. During the nine months that Jules was in a coma, he repeatedly felt sick and collapsed from Jules’ pain. These symptoms finally abated after the funeral, but the pain itself did not disappear. 

_Jules is still alive. Somewhere in this world, Jules is still suffering._ He can’t help but be convinced of this ridiculous notion, because his body is still in pain, his spirit is still crying out, and his soul hasn’t stopped searching. 

Charles grabs onto the armrests, waiting for the pain to subside. It takes him some time to remember the reason that he is sitting here in the meditation room: Seb has extended an invitation, or rather an order from above, to have a second counseling session. He raises the paper cup and discovers that his hands are shaking. The door to the meditation room opens.

A lion walks into the room.

“Jesus Christ,” Charles can’t help sounding as sarcastic as he’s ever been, “was this really necessary?”

Following his spirit animal, Max sits down cross-legged opposite Charles. The sound of flowing water fills the meditation room, along with the occasional chirps of birds. Charles, however, finds it impossible to relax.

“I asked Seb to tell you to come here. I didn’t know how else to be able to talk to you,” Max scratches his chin. “Seb asked me to get him some alcohol. I thought he didn’t drink.”

“It’s Kimi,” says Charles, resigned. “You’re even more persistent than I thought.”

“I just don’t understand why you had to avoid me,” asks Max, “do you hate me?”

“You mean right now? Maybe a little,” says Charles feebly.

“I’m sorry. But I think this is necessary.”

“You are really bad at apologizing.”

Max is still staring stubbornly into Charles’ eyes. Charles feels tired, though his spirit can’t help but tense up instinctively. Max stimulates him; he can sense Max’s mood, and it’s sending sparks into the dark depths of his dreams. 

“Charles, I just…wanted to talk to you more. I thought we were friends now.”

“I did the least I could. You’re getting the wrong idea,” Charles waves his hand. “You should go now, your lion is making me very uncomfortable.”

“I know you’re in pain.”

“You don’t understand,” Charles is getting impatient, “just…leave me alone, please. I really need to just be by myself.”

Max does not budge.

“I know, Charles. I really do,” Max presses his hand to his chest, “I can feel it. I can feel your pain. Heck, I felt it as soon as I was at the door. I think you really need to know.”

This shouldn’t be happening. Charles’ brain is resisting the reality as he understands it. This shouldn’t be happening. Max has no business syncing with his senses. There’s no way that they are a pair. He has never opened up his spiritual world to Max, either. The only explanation would be that Max is lying to him to win his trust. He gives Max a stern look, trying to force the truth out of him. But Max simply looks back with those stubborn, ignorant eyes, blue as glass. 

“This doesn’t make sense,” says Charles, “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand why either,” Max answers quickly, afraid that Charles will start giving him the cold shoulder again, “but I think it’s a sign…have you had a checkup?”

“I’m healthy, and my fracture has healed. Do you think the MSF would have put me in battle if I had a heart condition?”

“I think you need…some support, mentally. It’s not a horrible pain, but it’s so miserable.” Max desperately wants to touch Charles, but he holds himself back. “I feel like I must hold onto you. My intuition is telling me that you’re that special person. I know it’s weird, since neither one of us is a Guide. But would it really hurt to try?”

“I think you misunderstood,” says Charles distantly. He’s not trying to be cold towards Max. He just hates being treated as if he needs to be handled with care, like a fragile china doll. 

He’s jealous, too, though he refuses to admit it. He retorts sharply, “not to mention that your Guide is still alive. So can you stop acting like you’re a superhero here to save my day?”

Max is obviously hurt. With some satisfaction, he sees those blue eyes slowly dim. The corners of Max’s mouth dip downward, his disappointment showing. 

“…Daniel is not mine. He’s my teammate and my partner, but he is not ‘my’ Guide. And I don’t think you need saving, either. I just want to…can you…I’m really not good at this, Charles. Argh.”

Max slowly shrinks into a ball, hugging his knees. Charles wants to berate Max, to tell this inconsiderate boy to stop giving him those puppy eyes. He doesn’t quite bring himself to, though, because Max’s feelings don’t lie. The boy is sad. He doesn’t understand why he always ends up letting Max have his way, even when Max’s tactics cannot get any more childish. 

“Come here,” Charles moves closer, opening his arms toward Max. They hug each other, Max’s stubbly hair pressing against his ears. He smells Max’s cologne, pepper and patchouli, a bit spicy, indulgent, but warm. He suddenly realizes that Max actually cares a lot about his image. Max’s hair is always styled, face always clean shaven, and he wears cologne. He doesn’t really know Max that well, even though they were rivals, and even though they’ve been deep in each other’s consciousness. He has been too reliant on his Sentinel senses, but there are more ways to know a person than visiting their spiritual world. They should be able to experience more outside of their spiritual worlds. Perhaps he shouldn’t have treated their relationship like it’s a transaction: if he can’t be sure of the result, he’s not even going to start it. 

“I don’t like your cologne. It smells like an Arabic restaurant.”

“Oh, you like it very much,” Max laughs throatily, putting an arm around his back. It’s a gesture that can make one feel trapped, but he’s rather glad to have the heat of Max’s palm on his back. 

“I want some things from you, Charles. But it’s mostly up to you. I don’t have a particularly good idea myself what I really want. It feels good enough just being with you, though.”

“I’m not as great as you think I am,” Charles buries his face in Max’s collar. He does like the smell very much. “I’m very selfish…I’d want to possess your everything. You’ll realize that I’m childish and uninteresting, that my soul is empty inside.”

“That’s no problem. I can fill it.”

“You’re bragging again.”

“Let me try.”

He’s starting to feel afraid, because he doesn’t even have a retort. He also doesn’t resist when Max looks up and moves closer. He feels Max’s breath on his nose and lips. Those sparks, sparks lit by Max, falling on him and into the depths of his pitch-black dreams. He closes his eyes, knowing that his face is in Max’s hands, rough calluses rubbing against his temple and jaw. Fingers close in on the back of his head, pressing him into an overly warm midsummer. Neither of them unfurls their consciousness. Instead, they focus on savoring each other’s taste: the tartness and sweetness of cherries, a cherry tree in full blossom, a moist and crisp spring wind, and rain, rain lying in wait between clouds, pouring down at the temporary place of safety he has found for himself. 

The lightning strikes him. A tidal wave of shame and fear has him struggling in Max’s arms. Memories are resurfacing, and an invisible hand grips his throat, the weight on his chest making it almost impossible to breathe. Charles is transported back to a certain night of his childhood. Curled up in his bed, he was surprised and horrified by the sudden surge of heat inside his body. Then he realized what was happening. What his Guide was doing. 

And he had no choice but to feel every single part of it.

“…Christ!”

He loses it. Max stares at him, not knowing what to do. He tries to wipe away Charles’ tears and hold Charles’ hand in his own, as if that’s going to make him stop shaking. He chokes up, praying that he still remembers how to breathe, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to get oxygen into his lungs. He hasn’t had a panic attack in a very long time, long enough that he’s almost forgetting what kind of experience he had, and why he hasn’t allowed anyone to get too close to him. Maybe the only way forward for him is to be alone. He’s no longer capable of accepting another person, and he has never really been chosen by anyone — not even the most special soul who was telepathically connected and spiritually intertwined with him. 

“…Why…I'm sorry…but why…”

This is thoroughly embarrassing, but he can’t control himself. Max can only hold him tight and allow his tears to fall on Max’s own shirt. 

“I’m sorry, Charles, I really am. I didn’t know…I should have been more careful, sorry. I mean it.”

Max is in pain, too. Charles feels a few helpless kisses fall on the top of his head, like a parent trying to comfort a terrified child. He wants to be able to say that Max had nothing to do with it, but he can’t. The real reason is way too private, and he doesn’t want to sully the image of the dead. 

Or rather, his own memories of Jules. 

He has survived another panic attack. Charles slowly raises his head, wiping away the water marks on his face. Max looks extremely worried.

“I’m sorry that I got your shirt dirty,” he says softly, but it only seems to scare Max more.

“It’s nothing, Charles…”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Charles tries to look calm and patient, “you just saw why.”

“Maybe we can find a solution together?”

“There won’t be one — not if this is RB’s way of trying to destroy me. I don’t trust you, Max. You make me miserable. If it’s really possible for us to be anything other than rivals, like you suggested, then it shouldn’t have turned out like this.” Charles rises to his feet, eyes red, expression distant and cruel. “Keep away from me, Max, or I’ll rip out your throat.”

“But I fucking like you!” yells Max. “Maybe we’re just moving too fast. You are able to enter the depths of my consciousness. Not even Daniel managed to do that. We can do normal things, like talking, going on missions together—“

“That’s why you should be with Daniel instead of wasting my time. You only feel like you can get along with me because I was being accommodating.”

Charles walks out of the meditation room, slamming its door shut. He knows that Max is going to be awfully sad, but there is nothing he can do about it. He rinses his face at the sink, and looks into the mirror to find himself crying again. 

“Come on, Charles,” he mutters, “tough it up. It’s not the end of the world.”

But he’s still crying. His chest is aching again. 


	19. Old Wounds

“Hey, Charles?”

His Guide turns towards him in the dark. A bout of lightning illuminates half of Jules’ face. 

“Can’t sleep?”

He's horrified. The room smells like rain. Jules’ bed is a mess, and he refuses to begin to tell whom those clothes belonged to. Jules looks at him, realization sinking in. 

“…God. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would be like this. Are you alright?”

He starts to cry, so Jules takes him into his arms, gently patting his back. 

“I should have told you. I just thought it wasn’t that important.”

“…Do you love him?” Charles chokes up. He hears his own preadolescent voice. “Do you love Lorenzo?”

“Yes,” Jules kisses the boy’s hair, “I have, for a long time…but this is not how I wanted you to know.”

He and Jules share their senses. Of course Charles would notice when his Guide is making love to someone else. He is thirteen now, and he already has a vague idea of sex and love. But he was in no way ready to grapple with the desires of a full-grown adult, not least the one he trusts the most in the entire world. 

The one he'd been entrusted with from the moment he was born. 

Lorenzo is Charles’ half-brother. Fortunately or unfortunately, Lorenzo did not inherit their father’s Sentinel abilities. Jules, on the other hand, is an exceptionally gifted Sentinel. He became part of the MSF’s recruitment plan early on, and has been undergoing strict professional training. Charles knows that they've always been close, but he hasn’t realized until tonight just how long they've also been in love. What was most likely supposed to be the couple’s sweet first-time experience ended up being Charles’ nightmare.

That was when Charles started going to counseling sessions. Most people believe that he resorted to outside counseling — a highly controversial practice among Sentinels — only because of Jules’ death. The truth, however, is that he’d already ran into a problem his Guide couldn’t solve when he was thirteen. To be more precise, his Guide _was_ the problem.

He had no choice but to patiently persuade himself to accept the relationship between his two older brother figures. Charles and Jules gradually figured out techniques that allowed their consciousness to retain some form of independence in certain moments. Everything seemed to be getting back on track. As master and apprentice, he and Jules still trusted each other. Lorenzo was still his dependable and respectable older brother. 

And then, tragedy struck. 

Charles sits in the corner of his room, head buried between his knees. Seb comes to knock on his door, the squirrel hopping onto the back of his feet, asking him how his talk with Max went. He doesn’t look up, and has his spirit animal make threatening noises at his teammate instead. 

_Max is worried about you. He means well…_

_Go away. Leave me alone._ The black-footed cat bares its teeth and hisses. _Don’t even think about using Max to sway me. I’m not leaving Team SF. Also, I don’t plan on trusting you._

The squirrel looks at him for a moment before turning around in a resigned posture. 

_I should have added this. It’s true that you cannot trust everyone, but you need to have the courage to choose to trust some people sometimes. I’ll stay out of it next time._

_I’d be grateful for that._

Seb shakes his head and walks away, his footsteps receding. Charles’ chest feels empty inside. The black-footed cat sits down in his lap, the animal and its master leaning on each other. 

“Jules,” he calls out the familiar name once again.

“Jules…answer me.”

He chokes up. Is this punishment? For the tiny bit of dark, possessive desire he felt for Jules? For having been jealous of his older brother? He used to feel this ridiculous sense of superiority, knowing that not being able to enter his lover’s spiritual world, Lorenzo would never know Jules like he did. After Jules’ injury and coma, however, the connection became a curse. Charles had no choice but to endure the pain by himself, while Lorenzo remained oblivious to it all. 

It has been a long time since he last cried like this. He didn’t cry even on the day Jules was pronounced dead. Every old wound is being torn open by the lion’s claws, bleeding profusely into the night. He longs for the hands that pulled him out of the nightmare of losing his Guide. He has always hoped to be able to reunite with the person who’d entered the depths of his dreams. 

_Max, I’m so glad I met you. I’m so glad it was you. You are powerful, brave, fearless. Nothing can defeat you. And yet you’re so kind and gentle at heart, I can’t help but be awed by you._

He grabs onto his own arms so forcefully that he almost draws blood. 

_I really want to kiss you. But he won’t allow it. The ghost in my body won’t allow it. He won’t let me have you. I can’t fight him…this is my punishment for trying to be happy. I will never have another soul I can call my own again. I will never love and be loved wholly again._

He can still feel Max on his lips, but every time he tries to recall Max’s scent and his body heat, a burning fear begins to whip him from within. He slowly lays himself down, letting his tears either creep into his hair or fall to the floor. 

A coat of golden-brown fur begins to materialize in the dark. At first, Charles thinks that he’s imagining things. Then he realizes it is indeed Max’s spirit animal. He doesn’t have the strength to sit up. Instead, he waves his hand at the lion, trying to keep it from getting close to him. 

“Go away, Max.”

“I can’t sleep.”

Charles snorts, “why don’t you knock yourself out?”

“I’d prefer that you knock me out.”

There is a smile in Max’s voice. Charles finds the corners of his mouth curving upwards. Some strength seems to be returning to his limbs. He pushes the floor to get himself back into a sitting position, and the lion crouches down next to him. 

“You seem a bit better now,” says Max, “I was in so much pain that I didn’t know what to do with myself. I could only walk up and down in my room, and I couldn’t tell anyone else about it.”

“What about Daniel?”

“He told me to come to you. You’re the cause of it, after all.”

“I guess you’ll have to assassinate me, then.”

They both laugh at Charles’ rare attempt at humor. Charles’ chest still feels empty inside, but at least he’s not paying too much attention to it. Max falls silent for a while, allowing Charles to feel safe. He realizes that his muscles have mostly relaxed. Some sparks of excitement are starting to dance inside him. 

“I feel miserable seeing you in pain because of me,” says Max, “but I don’t want to apologize for kissing you.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” with Max no longer in front of him, Charles finds the courage to say it, “because I wanted to kiss you, too.”

“Maybe we can try again next time?”

“Next time.”

Charles smiles. A tear he’s been holding back suddenly falls from his eye. It turns out that there is no need for him to push Max away completely. Other than going for all or nothing, there are other ways that they can be with each other. Max is starting to seem happy, too, the lion gluing itself closer to Charles. 

“Max, what do you think we are now?”

“I don’t know,” says Max, “but at least I don’t normally want to kiss my competitive rivals.”

“You and I are not done competing. There is only going to be one Chief Sentinel.”

“True, but please stop saying that I’m just a way for my team to destroy you. It hurts.”

Charles flinches. “Sorry,” he says softly, “I just…didn’t really know what to say.”

“I was pushing too much,” the lion lays its head down at Charles’ feet, “but I guess it turned out alright.”

“I need to apologize to Seb. I was terribly rude to him.”

“Seb is pretty easy to get along with.”

“But he said to me earlier…he told me not to trust anyone, not even him, if it becomes necessary.”

Max falls silent, perhaps picking up on the unease that Charles is feeling. 

“He’s right. I don’t want to put it like this, but this is how the MSF works. You get the boot once you’re no longer useful to them. That’s how RB has always done things, and the other teams are no different. Of course, being warm and fuzzy doesn’t help you survive on a battlefield, and Team SF obviously didn’t pick you just because you are cute,” the lion rubs against Charles’ leg. “It’s a bit different between Sentinels, though. We have to have each other’s backs, you know, and we need our teammates’ help sometimes. Normal people don’t really get what we go through. We kind of look out for our own.”

 _Of course normal people don’t get it,_ thinks Charles. Normal people have no idea what kind of horrific burden their heightened senses can be. They don’t know the loneliness of being trapped deep inside one’s own spiritual world. Like whales migrating alone at sea, they rely on special sound waves to find each other. But why did Jules choose a normal person to be his lover? Was Lorenzo any more special than the average person? Either way, there was no possibility of children being born between them. 

The lion looks up. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” he replies instinctively, before realizing that he doesn’t want be hiding things from Max. “It’s probably…something to do with the reason for my panic attack.”

“I’m here, baby,” says Max, then tries to make up for sounding too flippant, “unless you plan on chasing me away.”

Charles doesn’t mind being called “baby” by Max at all. He even finds it kind of cute. Had Max been sitting next to him, he’d gladly put his head on Max’s shoulder. 

“About Jules…he was my Guide, and he was eight years older than me. I’ve been spiritually connected to him ever since I was born and baptized. His family didn’t want to hand him over to the MSF, but Jules thought it was his best venue for self-realization as a Sentinel, and they couldn’t stop him. Of course, his performance there also proved he had real talent.”

“I loved and respected him…he was the perfect idol to me when I was a little kid, but it was only because I chose not to remember certain things,” smiles Charles. “He’s kind of forgetful, and he can be a bit thoughtless. He once left me alone at the training center for five or six hours because he had friends over. But I wasn’t mad at him. When he found me, it was like finally seeing the sun again.”

“He was a happy, warm person…but he was only the happiest when he was with my older brother Lorenzo. Lorenzo is not a Sentinel, but it didn’t hurt the relationship…the love, between them,” saying these things out loud is easier than he thought, but he still has to prepare himself for it. “They were both great. Lorenzo cares about me a great deal. He watches out for us like every good big brother. Since my dad passed away two years ago, he’s been almost exclusively responsible for my younger brother Arthur.”

Max mutters, “my condolences.”

“It was all so perfect, so beautiful, like…you know, like what a happy family was supposed to be. But I couldn’t really fit into it. It was so weird. Really weird. Did you know that bonded Sentinels and Guides share their senses?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“…That’s how I discovered that Jules and Lorenzo were in love,” Charles buries his face in his arms again, “they were making love.”

“My Goodness,” Max chokes up, “that’s…awkward. And it’s not like you can just stop them…”

“Of course, we finally figured out ways to deal with it. This is why I’m good at constructing spiritual barriers.”

“I guess I have Jules and Lorenzo to thank, then. Your barriers save lives on the battlefield.” Max suddenly remembers something, “wait, so that would mean that Lewis…God, I’m starting to feel for him. Nico has _kids_.”

Jokes at the Chief Sentinel’s expense keep them laughing for a while. Charles apologizes to Lewis in his heart only half-sincerely, and realizes that the whole thing no longer feels like such a big deal. 

“Max, I’ve always felt like it was a…horrible and shameful thing to have witnessed. I was just thirteen. I had no idea how to deal with it. It felt like betrayal.”

“But you’re an adult now. You’re also an MSF Sentinel, one of the best warriors in the world.” Max adds, “not nearly as good as me, though.”

“Fuck you, Max.”

“I love you, Charles.”

Charles starts laughing, grabbing the lion’s mane to take Max’s spirit animal into his arms. The black-footed cat lies down on the floor and plays with the lion’s tail like a cat wand. Max makes a disgruntled sound, which resonates in Charles’ head.

“I can’t believe I’m jealous of my own spirit animal.”

“Next time.”

“Promise?”

“I’ll try.”

Max considers it for a moment and doesn’t ask for more.

“As an MSF veteran, though, my advice is to not let the others know that we’re close. We can greet each other, but we can’t act more intimate than that. I have some problems I need to deal with, and I have a feeling that they may not end well.”

“What problems?”

“I can’t tell you too much,” Max pauses, “but they have to do with Daniel. You’ll see.”

“Is it because I’m in Team SF?”

“Partly. The other part is because I love you. Do you think you can let me deal with my own problems like a man?”

“Of course. But if there is anything you need, anytime…you have to tell me.”

“I will,” the lion touches his forehead with its own, “love you, Charles.”

“Me too.”

Charles lets the lion go, watching it disappear into the darkness behind the wall, but not before turning around to look at him once more. His feeling of unease is still there, but with Max at his side, he does not feel particularly afraid. He wishes he could tell Jules that he has met someone who loves him. Maybe this is what love is — it’s just that for him, it's Max, and for Jules, it was Lorenzo. 

“You’re watching, aren’t you, Jules?” Charles makes the sign of the cross, “you’re with us. We’ll be reunited for certain when the day comes. Amen.”


	20. New Arrival

“The hearing begins next week. You and Max will go to Paris and explain to the Committee everything that happened in this mission. I already told you what to say,” Horner tosses his bullpoint pen onto the desk and looks up at Daniel, “do you have any other questions?”

“No, sir.”

Daniel stands straight as a rod. Max is not in the office with him. Horner seems to have made it a point to keep Max and Daniel from running into each other; Max only knew about Daniel being awake because his trainer let it slip by accident. Having unequivocally refused to become Max’s accessory, Daniel knows that his importance to RB has decreased. Horner gives him permission to leave, the fox’s yellow-eyed stare fixated on Daniel, making his skin crawl. He walks out of the office area as quickly as he can, hoping that the sunshine will wash away his discomfort. 

“Hello, Daniel,” a blond man in a white suit intercepts him. An albatross flies over his head and lands on the man’s shoulder.

“Mr. Rosberg,” Daniel switches to a smile, looking at Nico’s visitor tag. “Are you lost?”

“Call me Nico. Can I buy you a drink?”

Nico offers him a hand. With a moment’s hesitation, he takes it. The touch immediately conveys to Daniel just how much pain the other Guide is under. He looks up at Nico and sees the unfathomable sadness in the latter's eyes. 

“…Sure, I think so,” the honey badger pokes out from next to Daniel’s feet, sniffing Nico’s shoes and pant ankles. “There’s not much I can tell you, though.”

“I just wanted to check in on how my juniors are doing,” smiles Nico, while he sends Daniel a completely different message via their spiritual connection.

_I can’t talk now, not even like this. You’re Max’s Guide, right?_

_I’m his partner, but we’re not bonded and will probably never be. Christ, you should be in a soundproof isolation ward…who did this to you? You can’t put up a spiritual barrier to save your life right now. The noises and odors here must be absolutely killing you._

Nico smiles wryly. They keep exchanging harmless verbal pleasantries while their consciousness race to send more messages.

_I can’t tell you. Tranquilizers are keeping the pain in check, and that’s good enough for now. There’s something I have to ask of someone in the MSF, but I’m not sure if I can trust you…Daniel, do you care about Max? If you lie, I will know. Of course, neither of us can lie under these circumstances._

Daniel hesitates briefly.

_I do care about him._

_Good, you didn’t lie._ Nico seems relieved. _How much do you know about Max? Do you know what he went through before joining the MSF?_

_I know some of it…is it important?_

_Very important. Do you know about Plan Cradle? It’s the project that tracks the children of every Sentinel who has ever served in the MSF._

_Max was part of the Plan, and it sounded like his father was a bit overzealous. But I don’t think Max turned into an evil villain because of it._

Nico seems so anxious that Daniel is starting to have genuine worries about his mental state. 

_Max was lucky, but not every child involved in that Plan was…listen, Daniel, the Plan was approved by the Committee on paper, but in practice it was—_

“Aha, Nico. Long time no see.”

The spiritual connection breaks off. The albatross shrinks behind Nico in fear. Nico himself freezes on the spot, turning deathly pale. If Daniel weren't so familiar with the voice of the person who is talking, he’d think that Nico was seeing a ghost.

Lewis is looking at Daniel, a perfect fake smile on his face. 

“New friend, eh, Nico?”

Nico doesn’t answer. Daniel senses that Nico is simply too frightened to speak. He wants to lend Nico a hand, but Lewis’ black panther is crouching down threateningly in front of his honey badger. He’s not yet back in form, so he has essentially no chance against Lewis — not to mention that a public fight with Lewis would do him no good at all. 

Nico’s smile gradually comes back to him. “I’d imagine that you get to speak to Daniel a lot more than I do.”

Daniel wants to turn and run. He can’t help but be reminded of several years ago when Lewis and Nico’s relationship was at its most strained. No one wanted to get within three meters of them. The awkwardness in the air that surrounded them then has gotten even worse now. He has no desire to get involved, but Lewis’ black panther keeps patrolling close to him, seemingly not about to let him go. 

Lewis’ smile is wider now, but it still hasn’t reached his eyes.

“Sounds like we are the ones who ought to catch up, then, since it’s been several years and all. Shall we?”

With that, Lewis moves to grab Nico’s wrist. Nico instinctively retreats and breaks his hand free, following it up with a punch. But Lewis’ reaction is even faster: taking Nico’s fist in his hand, he pulls the other man towards himself until their bodies almost touch. Nico struggles, but Lewis is obviously doubling down on his grip, not taking any chances. He seems convinced that Nico wouldn’t fight him outright in this busy spot in broad daylight. 

Daniel feels like he needs to do something to keep the two ex-partners from killing each other, except that he’s completely powerless. At this rate, it's going to take a meteor strike to distract Lewis and Nico.

And strike one does; Daniel sees a boy in a hoodie and jeans running towards them, a mighty group of soldiers in tow. Even Lewis and Nico, who are still grasping at each other’s collar, can’t help but turn in that direction. A tiny round head sticks out from the boy’s hood, and Daniel recognizes it as a meerkat’s. The meerkat slides down its master’s sleeve and swiftly crosses the drill ground, going around the black panther’s feet before squeezing itself under Daniel’s jacket. 

“Hey, you little ratbag!” yelps Daniel. He shakes his jacket vigorously, trying to get the meerkat out from under it. The young Sentinel seizes this chance to hide himself behind Daniel. With his hands on Daniel’s shoulders, he makes faces at the soldiers chasing him. The meerkat also hops onto its master’s head and shows its teeth in a weird grimace. 

Daniel feels himself grow a bit weary. “Can anybody explain what is happening here?”

A private first class steps forward. “This kid was complaining that we didn’t serve milk in the cafeteria. He claims to be a reserve Sentinel of the MSF, but he doesn’t have any identification or papers to prove it. We’re just doing what the protocol tells us to do…”

“That’s because Alex took my bag and went on another flight!” yells the boy, “and I don’t want to wear his RB uniform at all! …Not because his size is too big for me, of course! You can talk to the guy in charge of MCL. Zack Brown would know who I am for sure.”

“He is a Sentinel.”

Lewis clarifies. The boy looks gratefully and admiringly at the Chief Sentinel he apparently idolizes. Lewis’ ego is obviously stroked. He offers his hand to the boy, “I’m Lewis Hamilton. What’s your name?”

“Lewis Hamilton…! Wow, hello! I’m Lando Norris,” Lando rubs his palm on his clothes before he even dares to touch Lewis’ hand. Daniel decides to never tell Lando that Lewis was just about to publicly fight it out with his ex-partner. He doesn’t need to crush a boy’s hopes and dreams like that. Nico, on his part, finally gets a chance to make his exit. 

“I hope you take good care of our new friend here,” says Nico, smiling. “I’ll be off.”

Before the enthusiastic Lando can greet him, Nico quickly departs the drill ground with a graceful gait. Lando seems somewhat confused, but he soon finds himself an explanation. “Mr. Rosberg is a busy person, isn’t he?”

“He sure is,” Lewis says this in such a peculiar voice that Daniel can’t help but look in his direction. He knows that Nico and Lewis have a strained relationship, but Nico’s reaction today seemed a bit extreme. Lewis is not a forgiving person, but it’s also very hard to imagine this exemplar of a Sentinel hurting his former teammate, the one and only soul companion he had in this world. 

After all, hurting Nico would have meant hurting himself.

Lewis’ desire to socialize seems to disappear with Nico’s departure. Depositing the boy with Daniel, the Chief Sentinel leaves with a hurried goodbye. Daniel exhales in relief, but his headache returns as he sees the meerkat in Lando’s hood. _I’m really not interested in babysitting…_

“Daniel!” Lando’s spirits remain as high as ever, “I knew you would never abandon me. You’re the nicest, greatest person in the world.”

The meerkat rubs its paws together and gives Daniel a pleading look. Lando himself keeps batting his eyes at Daniel. Daniel hesitates for a moment, but ends up caving in. 

“Fine, I’ll take you to Logistics and they’ll get the essentials sorted out for you. Team MCL was not part of this mission, though, so I’m afraid you won’t be seeing Zack. He’s still at the UK headquarters.”

“I escaped from the UK headquarters,” says Lando, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“How on earth did Zack let you?!” yelps Daniel.

Lando blinks innocently, “he didn’t. That’s why Alex, George and I broke out together.”

Daniel draws a deep breath so that he doesn’t start yelling at his junior.

“Who are Alex and George? Which teams do they belong to? Where are they now? Why did you leave your teams’ headquarters? Are you aware that what you did could very well disqualify you for the selection exam?”

Lando winces. Daniel is glad to see that some things are still capable of scaring this little daredevil. 

“…I’m not worried about my qualifications, because I’m guaranteed entry into the MSF.”

“You’re a minor,” says Daniel.

“I’m nineteen! I’m well over the minimum age limit! Max joined the MSF before he was even eighteen! And he’s your teammate! —Not that that’s important,” Lando seems a bit deflated. “Alex wasn’t recommended by RB’s junior program, so he’ll be serving somewhere else next year. That’s why George and I wanted to give him a chance to see the MSF in action.” 

Daniel decides to maintain a disapproving attitude. “You’re risking all of your futures by doing this.”

“I know,” Lando’s lips pucker sullenly. Daniel is reminded of the way Max looked every time he refused to agree with Daniel’s lecturing. 

“I need to make sure that you return to the headquarters safely, but I can’t control where Alex or George goes. It looks like you made it a point to take separate flights so that you wouldn’t get caught so easily at the airport.”

“Alex bought a bunch of different tickets, too, so that they wouldn’t be able to guess where we were going to land.”

Daniel sighs, impressed with how clever these young men are being.

“Come, Lando. I can take you to RB’s rest area. We can have some drinks and fill our stomachs.”

The boy’s eyes light up, “will Max be there?”

“Er, I’m not sure. Depends on how busy he is at the moment? It’s almost lunchtime anyway.” Daniel asks, “do you know Max?”

Lando nods emphatically, “we trained together!”

 _He trained with Max._ Daniel can’t help but be reminded of the message Nico didn’t have time to tell him. Damned Plan Cradle. It almost destroyed Max’s childhood, and it sounds like it’s going to hurt more innocent children. Lando seems like a well-adjusted Sentinel in good physical and mental condition. He is stable, bubbly, and capable of maintaining meaningful friendships with others. But what if all this is just a façade? What if Lando was also a product of this project, and is being used as a tool by certain people?

_You should go help these kids._

The voice implanted in Daniel’s consciousness speaks again. He wants to retort and say that he’s already exhausted, that he’s done everything he possibly could have for Max, that he was merely chosen by accident. He has neither the resolve nor the ability to rise to this difficult task. He just wants to stay true to himself and keep living his life the way he chose to.

 _Stop forcing onto me what you couldn’t manage to do yourself,_ he bellows back into the vacuum of his consciousness. Eventually, though, he pats Lando on the shoulder and heads to the rest area with the boy at his side. 


	21. Brotherhood

Daniel and Lando sit down at a table in the cafeteria. Lando offers a lengthy verbal review of the ice cream station before winning Daniel over with his enthusiastic praise of the avocado salad. Daniel feels like he should have stood his ground, but Lando is proving disarmingly likeable. You can sit next to him unguarded and totally at ease, listen to him babble about this and that, and watch the meerkat back up for him with its comical antics. He’ll giggle endlessly at every lame joke you throw his way, too.

It’s been a long time since Daniel has felt this relaxed. Stirring his salad with a fork, he changes the topic.

“So, you broke out of your respective headquarters and risked getting punished just for the sake of being a bro?”

Lando’s eyes widen. “What else was I supposed to do? They’re my bros.”

“You kids,” he knows that his laughter is forced. Years ago, he would have done similarly romantic and stupid things on a whim like Lando. He was young once, too, and he knows what it was like to have friendship mean more to him than anything else in the world, to be willing to risk his life in the wilderness for a person, a word, a promise half-jokingly uttered. 

He doesn’t regret it. He doesn’t. Choices had to be made, and he chose to protect what mattered to him the most. So there's nothing to regret. None. 

Daniel’s calculation proves correct: Max shows up at the cafeteria for lunch right about this time of the day. This is one of the few times they’ve been able to see each other in the past couple of days. He is the first to wave to his teammate. Lando turns his head and also sees Max headed their way. 

“Max?!”

There's the briefest moment of hesitation, but the blond boy’s face quickly lights up with surprise. 

“Lando? You’re Lando Norris?”

Lando immediately jumps out of his seat and bumps himself into Max. Max responds with a solid hug of his own. 

“My Goodness, it’s been so long! How on earth did you get here?” 

“It’s a long story…but more importantly,” releasing Max from the hug, Lando pinches his arms and begins to feel his chest muscles, “whoa, this feels so awesome to the touch! How did you get this ripped, Max?”   
  
Max doesn’t really know how to respond. Daniel laughs and interjects on his behalf. “You’ll be like this, too, Lando, after two years in the MSF.”

“Yeah, and girls will be all over you,” Max gives Lando a thumb up.

“Give me a break. I have no idea what to do with girls.” Lando finally releases Max and sits back in his seat. He looks at Max, “speaking of which, Max, are you still talking to that girl?”

Max freezes. Daniel leans over with an evil grin. “You got details?”

“Landooo!” yells Max, lunging at Lando. Lando shrieks while dodging him easily. Daniel enjoys the sight of the two boys fooling around while leisurely sipping his drink. Max grabs a hold of Lando and ruthlessly tickles him. Lando struggles and laughs so much that he has tears coming out of his eyes. 

He should have been able to just plainly enjoy what he has. Daniel suddenly feels dejected for no apparent reason. It’s a loneliness that comes from being left out, but he sometimes feels like it would be better called a sense of betrayal; either his feelings betray his thoughts, or his thoughts in turn attempt to smother his feelings — a tug-of-war that ends up keeping him from being immersed in feeling anything too deeply, whether good or bad. 

Fortunately, both Max and Lando calm down somewhat by the time they return to the table. Max gives him a long look, and he knows that Max has sensed the changes in his mood. He shakes his head slightly in response. 

“Do you need to talk about something?” asks Lando, “if er, if you need some privacy, I can leave…”

Max pulls on Lando’s hood to drag the boy back.

“You still haven’t told me how you got here to our base.”

Their next few hours are spent taking Lando to Logistics and explaining how he got here. Surprisingly, Zack does not get mad over the phone, and even gives Lando permission to return to Europe with the rest of the mission crew. The only good news for them is that Logistics is assigning someone to be in charge of Lando’s everyday needs, so Daniel no longer has to worry about turning into a babysitter with a noisy kid and an over-energetic spirit animal in tow. 

“He’s a pain in the ass, isn’t he?”

Max prods Daniel with an elbow. Daniel shrugs, noncommittal.

“I didn’t get the sense that you disliked him, though. In fact, he’s probably cuter than you. Have you known each other long?”

“He was kind of my only friend from what little time I spent at the Institute,” Max looks up, squinting in the bright sunlight. “You wouldn’t tell him everything, but you knew that you could trust him.”

“Sounds like you put him up to a lot of mischief.”

“He was the master of mischief,” Max corrects him. 

“I know,” Daniel chuckles. They both stop under the eaves of the building, putting on their sunglasses and folding up their arms, leaning against the wall in identical poses. 

“You had a girlfriend?” asks Daniel.

“Broke up with her long ago. I texted her that we were done.”

“You’re awful.”

“You know much better than her,” Max changes his posture, putting his hands into his pant pockets. “Did Christian give you a hard time?”

“Same old. Everything is the assailants’ fault, blah blah.”

Max hesitates, but still decides to speak. “Sorry, Daniel.”

“For what?”

“For hurting you…I shouldn’t have said that about what you did for me. And I also apologize for the many many times I’ve been a jerk to you in the past.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I’m only saying this to you.”

“Is it Charles?” Daniel turns to look at Max, “did you suddenly learn to apologize because of Charles?”

“Partly, yeah,” Max is being honest, “I just…realized that I was really hurting people who cared for me, even if they didn’t always choose to get mad at me or lecture me for it. I hope you can get mad at me, Daniel.”

“And that’s precisely why I can’t,” Daniel puts his arm around Max’s shoulder, ruffling his teammate’s hair. “You’re an awesome little dude. You’ll get even better.”

“Am I always going to be the junior who needs to be tolerated and forgiven to you?”

Daniel doesn’t answer immediately. He pats Max on the shoulder.

“Looks like you spoke to Charles.”

“Yes,” Max falls silent for a moment before adding, “I think I’m his boyfriend now.”

“Congratulations,” smiles Daniel, “you’ll take good care of him.”

“He’ll take care of me, too.”

“He will,” says Daniel softly, “you’ll be a great match for each other…”

 _This is not jealousy._ Daniel swears on it. He knew that he was destined to lose Max the moment he rejected the boy, and he believed it to be the best choice for both of them. He cares about Max, and he cares about Charles, even if someone else’s will plays a part in the latter. He doesn’t know how two equally sharp and broken souls are supposed to lean on each other, but what brought Max and Charles together may well have been exactly the respective pieces they’re missing. 

“You’re mad at me, Daniel,” says Max.

“I’m not,” he promptly denies it.

“But you’re not happy.”

“Being unhappy is not the same as being mad,” he sighs. “I’m just tired.”

“Will you stay?” Max looks at him, “stay at RB and be my teammate?”

“It’s not time to think about that yet.”

“In terms of equipment, RB has the best exoskeleton support design. We also have privileged strategic priority and the most efficient quick-response team,” Max’s tone is even, as if he’s simply stating the facts and not trying to persuade Daniel. “If you want to fight, staying would be the best option.”

“I know RB’s strengths very well,” says Daniel, “but sometimes, we don’t really make our own decisions.”

“I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I can’t tell you that. Not yet.”

Max’s cheeks move a little. Daniel can’t sense his emotions. 

“I hope you’ll stay.”

“Thanks.”

“But that’s just what I’m hoping. We all need to fight for what we want, or we’d be better off sleeping in at home.”

“Do you love Charles?”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Just answer me.”

Max falls silent for a moment. 

“I think so.”

“How much are you willing to give up for him? If him getting the thing he wants means you’ll have to sacrifice what’s most important to you, how would you choose?”

Max doesn’t speak. Daniel doesn’t want the silence to mean that Max is thinking. He’s at a loss about his own feelings right now, and he has no idea why he is pressing Max on this. He doesn’t even know what kind of answer he’s hoping for. Perhaps he just wants to be able to make this state of uncertainty last forever. 

“…I would tell you this.”

Through the sunglasses, Daniel sees the determination in Max’s eyes. 

“He’ll fight for himself, just like I’ll fight for myself. I know what’s most important to him, just like he knows what’s most important to me, so we’d never ask each other to sacrifice that. Because without dignity, I would no longer be Max Verstappen, and he would no longer be the person I love.”

And here it is, the answer that Daniel has wanted all along. He can barely believe how simple it is. A cold, hard fact is finally sinking in: he has never really understood the partner he spent his last three years with, even if Max’s spiritual world is completely open and accessible to him as a Guide, with no real secrets to speak of. 

He has to admit that he’s been limited in his thinking. Like any well-meaning but patronizing adult, he has always felt that he owed Max protection and guidance. He has never once been able to fully put himself in Max’s shoes. Instead, he has mistakenly decided to see Max as someone less fortunate, someone who needs to be tolerated and looked after, based on what he knew about Max’s experiences and personality. In that very moment, he has pushed Max away and lost any chance of preserving his true self in front of Max. 

“…Daniel?”

Max calls his name tentatively. He looks up, praying that the sunglasses will hide his emotions.

“Great answer,” he bumps his fist against Max’s chest, “but if you ever let Charles down, you’ll have the entire Team SF on your case.”

“I’m not planning on going public. Neither of us is a Guide anyway, so I’m not really sure where this will go from here. So far we seem to be able to just take it normally, though,” Max ruffles his hair, “we’ll do it one step at a time. But I’m still hoping to get your answer, Daniel. I hope that you will stay by my side.”

Daniel exhales slowly. It feels like such a great weight has been removed from his shoulders, and he has Max to thank for that. Max has always been a boy wonder: he keeps breaking records and making miracles happen, but he’s also soft and uncomplicated at heart like metallic gold. It would have to be an extremely lucky person, thinks Daniel, to have captured Max’s heart. 

And he has already squandered his opportunity. It was a pity, but it did make him realize what mattered the most to him. He rumples Max’s blond hair, and he now has a real smile on his face for the first time in the past several days. 

“I’ll fight for myself.”


	22. Grown-Up

After saying goodbye to Daniel, Max has to go to a doctor for his regular checkup to ensure that there are no long-term after effects. As he’s filling out the forms, he sees through the office window the boy in red sitting in the next room. A doctor is testing Charles’ pupil response. The black-footed cat’s ears prick up from behind the window glass, followed by a pair of large, round eyes. 

Max is ready to bet that Charles saw him, though he’d rather that Charles not come to him under these circumstances. Though he was the one to confess his feelings first, Max never understood the need for public displays of affection. His feelings are private, and he loathes being watched and judged. It does not mean he doesn’t value Charles; on the contrary, he values Charles so much that he wants to cherish the spaces the two of them share together. 

So he heads to the laboratory, pretending to not even realize that Charles is here. Almost two hours elapse before the doctor finishes collecting samples from him. Max walks off, reading the preliminary report in his hand. As soon as he tears the Band-Aids off of his arms and tosses them into the trash, he is abruptly dragged into the pitch-black utility room.

“…Charles!”

He whispers his complaint, only for Charles to giggle in response. Hands fumble to locate his jaw in the dark, followed by a stumbling kiss. He sighs. It takes him some effort to find the doorknob and secure it with a stick, but he can now focus on grabbing a hold of Charles’ wandering hand and teaching him how to more effectively capture someone else’s lips. 

Charles is still giggling himself stupid, and it fills his heart to the brim with warmth, almost bursting it out of his rib cage. Charles is an outrageously bad kisser, like a kitten licking nutrition gel. He has to patiently pry Charles’ teeth open and teach him bit by bit the correct way to kiss a lover, starting from parting his lips. He’s not annoyed by it at all, though; in fact, it makes him feel rather smug. Charles soon masters the French kiss technique and even begins to suck on Max’s upper lip. He lets Charles revel in his sense of accomplishment until he can’t take it any longer and pushes Charles away.

“…God, I can’t feel my lips.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles is still giggling. Reluctant to part with Max’s lips, he licks them once more for good measure. Max’s headache returns.

“I have no idea why you’re so into kissing.”

“You taste so good,” says Charles, dead earnest, “like cherry-flavored soda. Very sweet.”

“Honestly, I think you need to check if your senses are working,” says Max, “to me you just taste like salmon. Raw meat.”

“That’s because you don’t like me the way I like you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Charles starts to giggle again. Max can’t even begin to understand how he finds so much to be amused about. He once wondered if Charles suffered from some sort of mental disorder because of his traumatic past, but Charles is genuinely happy, as if he was always meant to be this happy and his misfortunes had simply deprived him of that. 

“You’re starting to surprise me now, Charles,” Max takes Charles into his arms, letting Charles sniff around his neck and chest. “You’re such a different person from just a couple of months ago.”

“Are you scared of me now, then?”

“Of course not,” Max buries the tip of his nose behind Charles’ ear. Charles doesn’t smell like much; Sentinels don’t tend to use scented anything, as it interferes with their olfactory senses. Max does wear cologne frequently, seeing it as a form of training as well as defense. He only picks the scents he likes, of course. 

“You’re wearing a new cologne,” Charles comes to his conclusion, “there’s lemon and tangerine, and pine.”

“Did it surprise you?”

“It still smells like you, but I prefer the one you wore in the meditation room.”

“I didn’t feel like being too ravishing today.”

Charles giggles again. Max slowly looks down, letting his lips trace the ridge of Charles’ nose, until they find Charles’ lips again. 

“I love you, Charles,” he mutters.

“I saw you talking to Daniel just now,” Charles places his hand against Max’s chest, letting his head fall on Max’s shoulder. “Was it about the problems you mentioned?”

“I was hoping that Daniel would stay on as my teammate.”

“Oh,” there is a smile in Charles’ voice, “did I just hear an RB trade secret?”

Max is not smiling. “Horner wanted Daniel and I to bond and become a permanent Sentinal-Guide pair, but Daniel didn’t want to do it. I respect his decision.”

“You being bonded to another Guide doesn’t mean that we’ll have to break up. My Guide didn’t have to.”

“But you’ll be jealous.”

Charles huffs but reluctantly admits it. “I told you, I’m possessive.”

“Can you…I mean, can you still establish a deep connection with any other Guide?”

“If you’re talking about a bonding-level connection, then no, I don’t think so,” Charles’ mood is obviously turning dark. “Part of me was…completely shattered after Jules left. I just can’t.”

“I’d like to try entering your spiritual world,” says Max, “if you’d let me.”

Charles falls silent. Max’s fingers brush the back of his boyfriend’s neck, slowly combing Charles’ loose hairs, feeling his warmth. 

“…I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“It’s okay. We have lots of time.”

“I have no idea how I’m going to react to it and what it’s going to turn into. I also don’t know if I can keep myself from hurting you further…my spiritual world is not a nice place. I built a bubble and enclosed myself in it — not just to protect myself but also to protect others from me.”

“You know I’m the best Sentinel there is,” Max kisses the back of Charles’ head, “I won’t get hurt so easily.”

“Has your chest been aching again? After I left the meditation room that day?”

“No…I know that Daniel had similar symptoms once. My mood swings were causing his body to somatize them.” Max’s chest tightens even though Charles is still leaning against it. “These symptoms disappear once the mood stabilizes or the spiritual connection fades away. They’re a side effect of two souls syncing and resonating.”

It also implies that they can potentially bond. While both Max and Charles realize what it means, neither of them is ready for a bonded life with the full weight of another person’s feelings and life experiences on their shoulders. 

“Charles, what do you think?”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. Max waits nervously until Charles speaks. 

“If you’re asking about what I think will happen between us, I think we’ll have our answers in due time. If you’re asking about Daniel’s situation, I would advice not trying to breach his spiritual barrier. He must have his reasons.”

“I want him to stay.”

“You can work for it, but you also need to accept that things won’t always turn out the way you want,” Charles bites him playfully on the chin. “Also, as generous as I’m trying to be about this, I really don’t want someone else tuning in when I’m sleeping with my lover.”

“You want to sleep with me,” Max gets straight to the point.

“Why would I not want to sleep with you?”

“I thought you wouldn’t like the intimacy,” Max swallows, “since our first kiss wasn’t that great.”

“Half of it was,” Charles grasps his collar and steals a kiss from the corner of his mouth, “and I think you’ve already more than made up for the other half.”

They enjoy each other some more, making sure the coast is clear before they reopen the door and pretend that they just ran into each other randomly. Charles touches his fingertips so lightly that it almost seems unintentional, but Max grabs Charles’ fingers, holding onto them for a moment before releasing them. 

To be honest, Max sometimes wonders if Daniel’s rejection was the reason that he was so eager to find the next target for his affection. That wouldn’t be fair to Charles, and it wouldn’t show his and Daniel’s relationship the respect it deserves. He can act like he couldn’t give a damn to many people, and even be an arrogant prick to some; the truth, however, is that Max just doesn’t want to be influenced by things he doesn’t care about. He is human, too, and he has feelings, vulnerabilities — and with them also the potential of getting hurt. 

Knowing that Charles also desires him sexually is a relief to him. Contrary to the way he looks, he’s always respected others’ boundaries and wanted people he cares about to be cared for. Since his sister’s birth, he’s assumed the role of her protector. Victoria didn't inherit any Sentinel abilities, which means she won’t be pushed into wars against her will, but it only makes Max feel an even greater responsibility for her. That’s how he realized that the way Daniel treats him reminds him of the way he treats Victoria. It is only in competitive exams and on the battlefield that Max and Daniel become equals. 

He doesn’t want his relationship with Charles to fall into the same pattern. Charles may be fragile, but he knows that Charles is every bit as proud as he is. Charles would always rather look strong and independent. He worried that Charles would feel like he needs to tiptoe around Max, or conversely, that he would feel like he needs to tiptoe around Charles. He became hesitant, doubtful, until Charles kissed him and put an end to his anxiety.

He may not know Charles completely, thinks Max, but he’d like nothing more than to be the person whom Charles desires and who’s going to make Charles happy. As long as they still have hope in each other, their relationship will live. 

Upon their return to Europe, the MSF holds funerals for the fallen soldiers in this mission. Seb makes a speech on behalf of the combatant personnel, and Max stands in the front with the other Sentinels to pay respects. Every warrior knows what it means to be part of the MSF. Like the others, he is prepared for the possibility of coming back in a coffin draped in his country’s flag. This doesn’t mean that they never feel fear, and it certainly doesn’t mean that they don’t grieve for their dead. 

Charles pats him on the back, a gesture that raises no suspicion even in public. 

_We have to look ahead._

The black-footed cat stands on Charles’ shoulder, its eyes fixed on Max. All the Sentinels release their spiritual animals to pay their respects to the dead. Lewis’ black panther takes the lead by roaring towards the sky, a salute to the fallen invisible to ordinary people. An atmosphere of grief shrouds the Sentinels before finally subsiding. 

The MSF’s reserve Sentinels serve as pallbearers. Max recognizes Lando right away. Two tall boys stand next to Lando, Alex in blue uniform and George in white, as far as he can tell. There are also less familiar faces in the back row that Max aren’t paying too much attention to. 

After the ceremony, Max plans to say hello to Charles before they have to return to their respective headquarters. To his surprise, Charles ignores him completely, running up with Pierre to the reserve Sentinels instead and starting an animated conversation in French with one of the boys. 

Max walks towards Daniel in silence. Daniel doesn’t try to hide his smile. “Getting the cold shoulder, I see.”

“Don’t you start,” fumes Max.

“It’s been going well between the two of you,” Daniel loosens his tie. The weather is still a bit too hot for full dress uniforms. “I can sense that you’re calming down. It’s a good thing.”

“I’ve always been calm,” Max snaps back. 

Daniel pats him on the shoulder and finds two chairs for them to sit. Charles and Pierre chatter on with the boy in glasses while their spirit animals frolic around them. Max throws some tendrils their way by “accident” and manages to learn the boy’s name, along with other minor details. The French boy is Anthoine Hubert. He has known Pierre for years, and naturally Charles as well. 

“Maaaaax!”

A meerkat rapidly climbs up to Max’s chest and interrupts his eavesdropping. Max reacts quickly and tosses the spirit animal back to its master. Lando hurriedly catches the meerkat and places it on his own shoulder before looking reproachfully at Max.

“How can you treat the the thirteenth cutest animal in the world like that?!”

“Because the lion is the world’s cutest animal, that’s why.”

“You’re so not!”

“I am too, by Max’s personal rankings.”

Daniel bursts out laughing. Max shoots Daniel a look and tries to act less immature.

“So you’re joining the MSF?” asks Max.

“Yes. Zack wanted me to start familiarizing myself with the training and combat aspects as early as possible, so he agreed to let me stay at the base for a bit longer,” Lando scratches his nose. “Alex and George got permission to visit, too. The MSF’s management were pretty nice to us.”

 _Only because no one’s interest was hurt by this in particular._ Max clearly realizes this, but he still gives Lando a smile in response.

“So what are you guys going to do here?”

“Um…the Committee wants the reserve Sentinels to be part of the actual operation, too, though of course they won’t be going deep into enemy territory or even to the front lines. I feel like it wouldn’t be a bad thing. It’s better than having to find out only after joining the MSF just how different actual combat is from their training. That plan won’t be put in motion until after the summer, though. I sort of look forward to seeing you on the battlefield, Max.”

“Sure, so that you can hide behind me, right?” teases Max.

They keep chatting for a few more moments before being called away by their respective teams. Max returns to Daniel’s side and whispers into his ear.

“You heard Lando. Minors are forbidden from taking part in the MSF’s missions. Quite a lot of the reserve Sentinels are just under eighteen.”

“That rule was made to prevent cases like you. They no longer want kids joining the MSF before they can drink legally,” says Daniel. “But if you were able to do it, others should be, too. I thought you didn’t care.”

“Not everyone can take it like me,” Max’s brows are furrowed. “I go on my missions, but it doesn’t mean that I agree with everything the MSF does. Real wars are not video games. Both your enemy and your teammates can get injured and die. You’ll see brains blown out of their skulls and insides trailing on the ground. They’ll drag their broken limbs around and the only merciful thing you can do will be to put a bullet in their head. Not everyone has the intuition to dodge bullets like us Sentinels, and not every Sentinel manages to stay sane like you and I after what they’ve witnessed. There is a reason that some of them don’t pass the selection exams. They are simply not fit to fight. Everyone should do what they can and are suited for. Wars are just not for them.”

“So this is your idea of mercy.”

“If you put it like that.”

“Do you think you can stop it?”

Max falls silent for a moment.

“I don’t know. But I won’t be the only one to suffer the consequences if I act impetuously.”

If he decides to take on the entire MSF and even the Committee behind it, there is a 100% chance that he’ll drag Daniel down with him even if he doesn’t mean to. Horner will no doubt use Daniel as a scapegoat because Max is the most valuable asset that RB has. Horner will go to any length to keep him. 

“You’re thinking like an adult now,” Daniel smiles bitterly. “I’m not sure I like that sometimes. You know what’s at stake. We need to choose, and choosing means you’ll have to give up other possibilities and pay the price.”

“I can’t always hide behind you, Daniel. I won’t anymore.”

Daniel smiles.

“Then don’t choose.”

“I hate being indecisive.”

“Refusing to choose is also a choice in itself,” says Daniel. “There are others who will be working towards the same thing, so you don’t have to be too worried about it. Just leave this mess to the people who are supposed to be dealing with it, and keep doing what you’re supposed to be doing. It’s not your fault.”

Daniel places a hand on his shoulder. For some reason, he has a feeling that Daniel is not as unconcerned about this as he looks, but he also can’t put his finger on exactly what is off. He can’t ever seem to read Daniel, and Daniel has never offered to talk to him about personal matters, either. He has no choice but to trust Daniel blindly; at least Daniel has never really hurt or betrayed him. 

“You’re still my partner, Dan,” Max gives Daniel a solid pat on the back. “You can count on me.”

“Thank you.”

Daniel’s smile is all too fleeting. 


	23. Circus

After taking forever to rummage through his suitcase, Max pounds frantically on the door of the room across from his own, shirt collar erect. 

“Daniel! I need help!”

The door opens and Daniel makes himself half-visible. His sleeves are buttoned, and he looks like he’ll be ready to go once he steps into his shoes. Demoralized, Max’s shoulders sink. “Can I borrow a tie?”

Daniel grins. Max feels his annoyance rise, but he fights to keep his expression even to not look any more embarrassed. 

“Come on in. I’ll tie it for you.”

Max is grateful that Daniel is anticipating his needs and saving him from having to ask for another favor. It does bother him, however, to realize just how much he still relies on Daniel. 

“This one really brings out your eyes.”

Daniel pulls out a deep blue tie. Max stands in front of the mirror, feeling inexplicably fidgety. Daniel is still murmuring, “it never hurts to double- and triple-check your luggage for a hearing…okay, how’s this? If it’s too tight, you can always pull it a bit loose.”

“Thanks,” Max looks at his watch, “you wanna go grab some breakfast downstairs?”

“I already ordered room service,” Daniel points to the plates and utensils behind him, “I’ll see you at the auditorium.”

Max furrows his brows, “are you avoiding me?”

“Then why would I open the door for you?”

“Is it because of Christian or Charles?”

Daniel looks at him. They remain silent for a moment. Daniel sits down first. 

“Both.”

Max is defeated, but he doesn’t have a good answer. It’s not like he can just yell to Daniel that he doesn’t like it and pressure Daniel into compliance. Max clenches his fists and unclenches them again. 

“Does this make you feel better?”

“Maybe,” smiles Daniel. “You and I will both need some time to get used to it.”

“…If you’re mad at me and you don’t want to see me, you can just tell me. I’m not that frail.”

“I know. I’m not mad at you, and I don’t hate you.” Daniel’s spirit animal climbs into its master’s lap, curling up in a comfortable position. “Go check the lining of your luggage, where you keep your passport. I think you’ll find your tie there.”

Max returns to his room. His tie lies in a corner of the luggage like a tiny, dead snake. He hates Daniel for being so smooth and considerate, even in exposing Max’s tactic. He doesn’t want much. He just wants Daniel to be honest with him. Everything he says to Daniel feels like punching air, and everything he does feels unnecessary and foolish. 

He even begged his father to talk to people to get Daniel to stay. He spent most of the past few days making sure that he’s leveraging every bit of influence he had, and even Horner promised him that he wouldn’t fire Daniel just because Daniel refused to bond with Max. And it’s not like RB can find a better Guide for Max, anyway. All he wants now is a confirmation, a clear answer from Daniel, telling him that everything he’s doing actually means something, to Daniel or even just to himself. 

Charles called him a few times, but he always hung up early because he had something else to attend to. He doesn’t know if it made Charles mad at him or not, but he can’t bring himself to be overly concerned right now. Max is mad himself. When he walks into the cafeteria and sees Charles sitting at a table with Pierre, he forces his way between them and sets down his tray like he did last time. 

Pierre can’t help but look worried, but Charles seems calm. 

“ _Bonjour_ , Max,” smiles Charles, “ _j’espère que vous passez une bonne journée_.”

“English. Thanks.”

“He hopes you’re having a nice day,” Pierre hastens to explain. Max kicks Charles hard, but Charles takes it as his cue to run his toes all the way up Max’s calf, massaging him with intent. Sensing that something is not quite right between the two, Pierre has half a mind to make a run for it, but he’s also afraid that Max and Charles will actually start fighting. So he extends an invitation to Charles. “Charles, do you want to come with me to the check-in? Looks like there’s a line for it.”

Max points to the table behind Pierre, “Daniil’s almost done. You can go with him.”

Pierre looks embarrassed. Charles smiles reassuringly at his friend. “It’s okay. You can go first.”

The Frenchman has no choice but to leave with the Russian, looking back at them as he goes. Max exhales in relief and immediately gives Charles a vicious look. “Why the hell were you rubbing your foot against me?!”

“You kicked me first.”

“Because you had to show off your _français_!”

“That was because _you_ had to come between me and Pierre,” Charles blinks. “Aha. You’re jealous.”

“I need to talk to you!”

Charles nods gracefully to indicate “please”. It infuriates Max even more, but he has to swallow his anger.

“You and Pierre have a friend who is a reserve Sentinel of the MSF, correct?”

Charles looks at him disbelievingly. “You’re getting jealous of _Anthoine_ now?”

“I’m not!” yells Max, drawing curious looks from several. He hastens to pretend that nothing has happened. “Has he talked about joining the battle after the summer?”

“Hmm…I think so. Is it important?”

“I want to stop it from happening,” Max cuts his steak open forcefully, “so I plan to protest to the Committee at the hearing today.”

“But surely we only heard about this because the Committee has already approved it,” Charles seems a bit puzzled, “if you are to do that, I’m sure they won’t like it.”

“I just wanted to know whether you’ll help me or not.”

Charles’ expression turns cold. “It depends on what kind of help you’re asking. I’m with Team SF, after all.”

“Anthoine will be sent to the front lines. He’s a friend of yours and Pierre’s. Are you sure he’s ready for the war?”

“We’re never ready for the war.”

“I love you…”

“I love you too, _mon cher_. But this is not up for discussion,” Charles finishes the last piece of ham in his salad, pushes the bowl aside and wipes his mouth. “I can’t risk harming my whole team and jeopardizing my own future just because you want to make a point. It would be like an ant trying to move Mount Everest. I would advise you against it, as your colleague and as your boyfriend.”

“I really hate you,” says Max, “because I can’t get mad at you even when you’re turning me down like this.”

“Unfortunately, it looks like I’m still your boyfriend,” Charles runs his toes up Max’s calf once more. “Anthoine will be safe. They won’t be putting the reserve Sentinels in the more dangerous places. They’ll most likely be kept behind the lines. You should take care of yourself first.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, I don’t need parental supervision.”

“I think you do need some attention from your boyfriend, though.”

Charles beams at him. He’s ashamed of how giddy it makes him feel, and blames his lack of resistance on Charles’ overly mesmerizing looks. Right now, his brain can’t think of anything other than how he’d push Charles up against the wall, tear open the black suit embroidered with the emblem of the prancing horse, and kiss Charles until no complete words can fall out of his mouth. Having stared at Max for a while, Charles can’t hold back his giggle. 

“Sorry, Max. I was scanning for your mood changes and physiological reactions without telling you.”

“Shut up, or I’ll tie you up and take you to the basement right now.”

“I look forward to it.”

Obviously, Max can’t just tie Charles up and take him to the basement right now. In fact, he has so far failed to find an opportunity to spend a night with Charles. This has only made him visibly madder, so much so that every person he runs into are choosing not to greet him. 

The MSF members are assigned one of the fan-shaped seating areas in the sloped auditorium. He sits with Daniel, Charles right behind him, Lewis and his teammate Valtteri out at the front. Nico Rosberg sits down at the front of another fan-shaped seating area. He’s obviously going to be one of the main speakers today. With him separated from Lewis by an entire guest seating section, there is at least no worry that the two will start a fist fight on site. The center seats belong to the Committee members. Max recognizes several faces among them, all of whom retired MSF Sentinels. Damon Hill, who refereed for him and Charles back when they first met at the training center, announces that the meeting has begun.

The oral reports are heard without incident, with each participating Sentinel only reporting what they know. Naturally, Max omits all mentions of the mysterious Number 93. To keep the other Sentinels from detecting his dishonesty, he has his mind wander on purpose while delivering his report: the turbulence they encountered in flight, the noise of the central cooling system, Charles’ kisses, his stupid giggling, and—

“Focus, Max.”

Horner’s voice speaks to him through his earphones. Max apologizes quickly, knowing that he has succeeded. The Sentinels on the rostrum raise no questions about his testimony. The Committee members begin to review the MSF’s report and the testimonies they’ve heard. Incessant chatter fills the auditorium. Max flips through the copy of the report in his hand, feeling bored. He tosses it aside. 

A red ant crawls out from between its pages. 

Max looks up instantly in alarm, throwing the tendrils of his awareness to all corners of the auditorium. He begins with the guest seating section and soon has his answer. Sentinel Number 93 is sitting at the back in a red-and-black jacket, his face mostly concealed behind a baseball cap. He nods in Max’s direction.

 _Why are you here?_ Max sends him a message. _How did you get in?_

_I was invited._

_You killed my teammates._

_Your side killed quite a few of ours, too. I guess that makes us even._

_You almost made me bite my partner’s spirit animal to death._

_Because that’s what you’ve been wanting to do all along._

_I have to tell the others to arrest you._

_I wouldn’t do that if I were you._ Number 93 grins. _Firstly, you’d have no chance against me even if the best ones among you were to team up. Secondly, even if you had a chance, the people who invited me here would make sure that their guest gets out safely. Thirdly, even though I’m pretty confident that I would beat you, I’d have to pull no punches on this one. So I can’t promise that you’d all get out of the hospital in a few weeks like you did last time. It’s not a particularly good day for bloodshed, wouldn’t you agree?_

Max falls momentarily silent. The lion bellows within him, itching to delight itself in a fresh killing spree. Strangely, he feels a calm that he has never felt before, as if the world has been reduced to just him and the voice inside his mind. His senses remain fully functional, but his consciousness has transcended it all and is looking upon everything with an indifferent stare. 

_You can give me some information._

_Why?_

_Because you were planning to anyway. Why else would you not erase my memories and tell me your number?_

_True._ Number 93 smiles. _You and I are brothers in a way. I have a warning for you. Don’t give anyone any reason to get rid of you. You won’t like where that leads._

_Why are you warning me?_

_We know the MSF like the back of our hand._ Number 93 rises to his feet to leave the auditorium. _Also, take care of your little boyfriend. He has a ticking bomb in his head._

Max immediately turns to look at Charles. Charles is talking to the press secretary. He senses Max’s gaze and signals to Max with a subtle look in his eye. _Not now._

Goddammit. He really does love Charles, so much so that he calms down immediately just seeing for himself that Charles is safe. He even disregards Number 93’s other warning about himself, but eventually the fear catches up with him. He turns around to look at the report in front of him, feeling like he can still see the ants crawling all over it. Daniel senses his unusual fluctuations and offers to check in on him, but Max stiffly turns him down. 

The hearing has now proceeded to the questioning stage, where the main topic is whether the Azerbaijan operation has resulted in unnecessary casualties. Max is confused and distressed. He doesn’t know if it’s still necessary for him to object to the plan of including reserve Sentinels in battle. What perplexes Max the most is that Number 93 doesn’t appear to harbor any ill intentions. Throughout their first fight, Max never sensed any real hostility from Number 93, either. 

“Next speaker, Daniel Ricciardo.”

Max’s attention snaps back to the conference proceedings. Daniel sits up, positioning the microphone in front of him, triggering some feedback. 

“I have a relevant fact to add to the Academy spokesperson's suggestions. The MSF plans to put reserve Sentinels into battle after the summer. Shouldn’t the Academy be focusing its efforts on ensuring the safety of these young men?”

Max can’t believe what he just heard. He sees shocked faces on the rostrum, in the MSF seats, and even Rosberg, the Academy spokesperson himself, looks surprised. Before any of the MSF members can react, Rosberg seizes his opportunity.

“The Academy has always provided specialized education and training for Sentinels, but it is upon the MSF, not the Academy, to ensure the safety of its own reserve members. There should be no need to risk their lives in battle before they have passed their evaluations and are deemed fully prepared. Wouldn’t you agree, my esteemed MSF colleagues?”

Horner immediately snatches the microphone from Daniel. “This plan is irrelevant to our agenda today.”

“Please stay on topic, Mr. Rosberg,” the Committee rejects the Academy’s motion, but Rosberg and the Academy now got the bombshell revelation they were looking for. Horner glares at Daniel with such loathing that it looks like he wants to skin Daniel alive. Daniel ignores him and beams at Max. 

“You just handed the Academy the biggest leverage on a silver platter,” Horner says under his breath. “We’ll talk about this later. You will not be speaking any more today.”

Daniel spreads his palms. “I’m done.”

“Ten days of detention.”

“I don’t give a damn,” scoffs Daniel, “I won’t be answering to you anymore once this hearing is over. I bought out my own contract.” 


	24. Hounds

Max needs an explanation. He really needs one. After announcing that he has bought out his contract, Daniel leaves without the slightest hesitation. Communication devices like cell phones are not permitted in the auditorium, so Max has to remain confused and tormented until the meeting is adjourned and he can go find Daniel in the break room. 

Daniel is not surprised to see Max. He sits on the sofa, looking leisurely and unhurried. 

“Daniel,” Max sits down and searches himself for something to open with. He ends up only uttering one word, “why?”

“I made my choice. I fought for what I wanted,” Daniel balls up his hands. “All good things have to come to an end. Think of it as my parting gift to you.”

“But you’re going to have a target painted on your back now…”

“I don’t give a damn. I really don’t. Yes, it’s true,” Daniel’s voice gradually deepens, “I have changed. I’m not the plucky young lad from all those years ago anymore. Not because things around me have changed, but because I have. Everything that happens to me from now on will be the last lesson I can teach you. Every choice you make has a price that you must pay.”

“Where will you go next?”

“Surely you didn’t think that I would be able to buy out my own contract?” smiles Daniel. “I found myself a buyer. Renault used state funds to buy me from RB without alerting Horner.”

This does not reassure Max. “But that means you’ll be dropped from the strategic priority group, and you won’t get anywhere near the top three in the year-end evaluations…”

“I believe that miracles happen to those who wait. —That’s not going to convince you, is it?” Daniel watches the bustling crowd outside of the window. “There are things that I have to investigate. It’s important.”

“More important than your future?”

“Have you ever thought about who you are?” Daniel suddenly starts questioning him. “Are you a Team RB Sentinel, a soldier of the MSF, or a peacekeeper like so many others in the world who fight for peace and liberty?”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Ah, you never question it. Because questioning makes one weak. And I don’t want to use your trust in me to sway you, to change what makes you you.”

“You taught me so much,” Max looks pleadingly at Daniel, “and that’s why I hope you’ll teach me this time, too. Please.”

Daniel does not answer him immediately. Instead, he lowers his gaze, taking his time to think. 

“When you identify with one of the labels placed on you, you naturally behave according to what’s expected of someone with that label. Sometimes the labels are picked out for us before we are even born; we’re both Sentinels, for instance. But sometimes, when we’re faced with necessarily conflicting choices, we have to pick another label for ourselves.”

“What do you think your label is now?”

Max asks Daniel. Daniel smiles and sighs.

“A demoralized and disappointed man who’s gotten the wind knocked out of his sails by reality, but who still wants to try putting up one last fight.”

“I don’t know what I can do…will you and I still be friends?”

“Of course,” Daniel pats him on the shoulder and gets up to leave, “we’ll always be friends.”

Saying goodbye is simpler than Daniel expected, but not any easier for it. Daniel arrives at the banquet hall to get himself some dinner. Nico, the Academy spokesperson, makes an elegant entrance and gives him a social smile. 

“Thank you for speaking truth to power at the hearing.”

Daniel responds coldly, “it was not because of you.”

They proceed to walk in opposite directions, switching to spiritual communication. 

_You look better than last time, Nico. I’m glad._

_I’ve experienced worse on the battlefield. This is nothing._ Nico calmly keeps his conversation flowing with other people. _But I wasn’t expecting you to disclose such an important plan, not least at the hearing. That wasn’t part of our agreement._

 _I tacked that one on for free._ Daniel takes a big gulp of his drink. _Can you manage to keep the reserve Sentinels out of battle?_

 _I’m not sure. The Academy’s influence is quite limited, which was why I had to come to you in the first place._ Nico’s thoughts fall quiet for a moment. _I’m sorry._

_Don’t be. I wasn’t hoping for much. I was happy enough just to make the Committee squirm._

_Be careful at Renault. Don’t let anyone know that you’re investigating this._

_How should I report to you?_

_Don’t tell me anything. If you have definitive proof, send it directly to the headquarters of the Sentinel Academy._

A guess takes shape in Daniel’s mind. 

_Nico, you…it’s Lewis, right? He’s entered your head?_

_I can’t say._

Daniel falls silent for a moment at the shock of the realization. 

_This is terrifying._

_I don’t know._ Nico quickly changes the topic. _No matter what it costs me, some things must be stopped. I’m very grateful that you’ve been willing to trust me._

_I knew that you weren’t lying, after all._

Their conversation is cut short when the Chief Sentinel walks into the banquet hall in a black pinstripe suit. The black panther, his spirit animal full of power and grace, follows him in. Lewis does not look at Nico, but the black panther growls at the Guide in white. Daniel catches Nico trembling for a brief second, further confirming his suspicion. 

He’s starting to admire Nico Rosberg. Before this, he’d always thought that Nico chose to run from the battlefield because he was tired of it. It looks like Nico in fact chose to throw himself into a lonelier, more desperate war. Perhaps Nico had a dark childhood like Max, trained and experimented on like a guinea pig. Perhaps Nico struck a deal with the Sentinel Academy. Or perhaps Nico simply wanted to keep other children from becoming victims, his own kids included…

Regardless of his motivation, Nico is waging a brave and undoubtedly just fight. This comforts Daniel and makes a certain voice inside him come into its own. 

_Protect those you love._

_Yes, I do care about Max. But I’m also doing all this to give myself an answer, to put you truly to rest._ Daniel closes his eyes. _I don’t know what the future has in store for them, but they are both really great boys. You should see them. Max and Charles, they are grown-ups now._

Max is angry, but he can’t and won’t do anything to make Daniel stay. As he watches Daniel leave, he’s itching to tell Daniel that he is not totally oblivious, that he too is harboring secrets too heavy for his own shoulders. But he doesn’t want to hurt Daniel, and he’d also rather show Daniel’s choice the respect it deserves. 

In the banquet hall, Charles brushes past him. They don’t stop to talk to or even look at each other. Instead, the back of their hands touch lightly, their fingers intertwining for the briefest of moments before letting go. Charles seems to favor hidden gestures like these in public, like an animal marking its territory with soft, childish moves. Max doesn’t mind Charles demanding his attention in this way, but they both want more. Max can no longer content himself with fooling around like children. 

So when Charles finds himself riding the same elevator upstairs as Max, Max assumes that Charles knows what’s going to happen. Max does not push the button for his own floor, and Charles does not expose him. He simply exits the elevator swiftly and makes a beeline for his own room. Charles leaves the door slightly ajar so he can pretend to close it in Max’s face, but Max is already propping the door open with his arm and his foot. 

“I’m here to kidnap you,” Max grins, holding up his visitor tag like he’s some kind of secret police. Charles bites the tip of his tongue. He narrows his left eye, steps back, and starts smiling. It’s a sweet and evil smile that others rarely get to see. He knows that Charles looks forward to what happens next as much as he does, so he cups Charles’ face, kissing his boyfriend as he squeezes himself into Charles’ room. 

“You’re definitely in the surveillance footage now,” Charles reminds him between kisses, “will that be a problem?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Max pushes Charles against the wall and ruthlessly tears his shirt open. He hears buttons popping loose, not knowing which nooks and crannies those expensive bits of tortoiseshell are going to roll into. Charles keeps giggling. He giggles harder when Max fumbles stupidly, trying to undo that damned Italian belt of his. 

Max suddenly feels a surge of nameless rage. He grasps Charles by the collar and throws him into the soft mattress. He then straddles Charles’ chest and puts his hands around Charles’ neck. 

“Goodness, you are so eager today.”

Charles grabs his wrist, seemingly oblivious of the danger. His elbow finds its way around Max’s neck as he delivers a tender kiss to Max’s lips. Max is confused for a moment, suddenly not knowing whether he wants to kill Charles or make love to Charles. Charles peels off Max’s pants, kneels himself down and slowly takes Max’s cock into his mouth. Max didn’t expect Charles to volunteer to blow him. Charles looks up at him with smiling eyes, his head bobbing up and down. Where did Charles get eyelashes as long as those? Why are Charles’ eyes turning that shade of hemlock green in these moments? Why does Charles not resist at all when Max squeezes his jaw and thrusts himself mercilessly down Charles’ throat, making him squeamish?

Max lets go. He has been pulling on Charles’ hair, forcing the latter to swallow his cock. Charles coughs hard, then slowly embraces him and rubs his face against Max’s chest. 

“I’m not particularly good at this…”

“I didn’t want you to blow me that badly anyway.”

“Sorry.”

Charles mutters. Max hears the belt drop to the floor. Both their pants are hanging by their ankles now. He sits back on the balls of his feet so that his eyes are level with Charles’ again, and follows up with another gentle kiss. 

“Did I hurt you?” asks Max.

“No,” Charles’ eyelashes flutter against his face. “You can do rough things to me. I actually kind of like it. It’s a new discovery.”

“You want to take a bath?”

“If you take it with me.”

So Max pulls Charles to his feet, his cock still half-erect. They help each other get rid of the rest of their clothing. Charles drapes a towel over his arm, not managing to conceal much. Max finds it impossibly sexy. Charles fills two champagne glasses with a bottle of sparking water from the fridge, and starts walking towards Max. Max almost thinks he’s looking at Dionysus himself. Charles smiles, shoves a glass into his hand, and takes him to the bathroom. 

“They didn’t put any alcoholic drinks in the Sentinels’ rooms,” says Charles. They are waiting for the bathtub to fill with hot water, and Max feels Charles’ weight on his shoulders. 

“Do you drink?”

“Champagne, wine, martini. They won’t let me touch anything stronger.”

Max stares at the bubbles inside the glass. “I’ve tried many liquors, but I don’t really like them. You know how far I once ran from home?”

“Tell me.”

“When I was fifteen, I flew to Las Vegas and stayed there for two months.”

“How did you support yourself?”

“There are many ways to do it when you’re a Sentinel,” Max puts his arm around Charles’ shoulder. “I worked as a dealer at a casino, and soon I was dealing chips in the tens of thousands. I wasn’t easily threatened, and they couldn’t scare me with their usual anti-Sentinel tactics. I had a great time there, even better than I did at home.”

“What did the gamblers do to you?”

“There is this crude method of identifying Sentinels that’s been phased out since the end of the last century with the arrival of instruments. Now it’s used purely as torture and punishment. The bathtub is full.”

Max walks into it first, and extends his hand to Charles as an invitation. Some hot water flows over. They kiss some more, and Max lets Charles sit in his lap, head against Max’s chest. 

“The method is to inject Sentinels with a drug that causes direct pain to the nervous system. They call it pain titration. Sentinels have a lower pain threshold than normal people, so if it takes a hundred to make a normal person feel pain, it may take just five for a Sentinel to start screaming.”

“Christ.”

“I was trained to be immune against torture.”

“You were fifteen.”

“I told you, I’m the best Sentinel the MSF has.” Max kisses the back of Charles’ hand. The drugs used to flow into his body through the veins in the back of his own. “Plan Cradle raises more than just warriors. It also raises agents, spies, supersoldiers. Even Lewis has no idea the kind of hell we kids who are born famous have to go through. This is why he will never understand Nico Rosberg, I think.”

“I’m not Lewis,” says Charles.

“And I’m not Nico.”

“Have you talked to Daniel about any of this?”

Max shakes his head. “I thought I would never mention it again.”

“I’m very lucky.”

Charles turns around to kiss him. He caresses Charles’ collarbone, his chest, his rib cage, his waist, then the cleft between his buttocks. Charles straddles his thighs. There are water droplets on Charles’ nose and jaw, and his green eyes are misty and full of tenderness. Max is amazed that jewels like them are permitted to exist; so fragile-looking, yet so beautiful. He raises his neck to kiss Charles’ quivering eyelashes. 

“ _Je t’aime, mon cher_.”

“ _Ik hou ook van je_.”

They are both satisfied with the response they got. Charles puts his hand on Max’s cock and helps him get revved up again. All of Max’s focus is on Charles and his own body, and he knows that Charles feels the same. This is perhaps when both their spiritual barriers are at their thinnest and weakest. Max even opens up his entire consciousness, and Charles responds with deeper, more lingering kisses as he sheaths Max’s cock inside his own body. Max has never made love with another Sentinel before. Even though he makes no particular attempt to probe into Charles’ consciousness, he feels Charles’ desire, the electricity under his skin, and a tenderness bordering on sorrow that’s almost bursting itself out of his rib cage. 

“My love,” Max cups Charles’ face in his hands, “my love.”

He has been lonely for too long. Max can only kiss Charles to tell him how much he loves him. The flesh and bones torn apart in him still bleed to this day. He’s been imprisoned in the shell of his body, in the confines of his skull, in the enclosure of his young mind. He’s spent countless nights there, cold, lonely, with no dawn in sight.

“My love,” Max slowly draws himself out of Charles’ body. Charles’ eyelashes quiver, his brows softly furrowed with sorrow. He brushes away the water on Charles’ cheekbones with his thumb, brushes past the tiny spots of sunburn and the Cupid’s bow that arches slightly upward like a doll’s. He kisses Charles again. 

“You’re sad.”

Charles does not try to deflect. “Yes.”

“Shall we take a break?”

“You made me feel…pain. Not physically. It was like trying to hold onto burning charcoal with my hands. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out of me. You were so furious,” Charles slowly rises, and Max hastens to support his waist, “but so gentle. I thought you would hate the whole world.”

They drink some water and dry each other with towels, before slipping themselves under the blanket and curling up against each other. 

“If I hated the whole world, I would lose you. I’m not that stupid.”

Charles smiles and snuggles up against him. He has never been so obsessed with another person’s warmth. 

“How was I? Were you satisfied?”

“You were gorgeous. Like antique porcelain in a museum. I almost couldn’t bring myself to touch you.”

“I’m not that fragile.”

“I’m scared of myself,” sighs Max, the words falling easily out of his mouth. “When I lost control, I almost bit Daniel’s spirit animal to death. If I did, Daniel would have lost his consciousness permanently and fallen into a vegetative state.”

“But like you said, it was because you lost control,” Charles plays casually with the stubbles on his chin. “I’m not scared of you. I would never just stand there and let you hurt me, not to mention that you would never do it to begin with.”

“I saw Number 93 today. He was in the guest seating section. I think he was there on someone’s orders, but he didn’t do anything.”

Charles’s brows furrow. “You didn’t warn anybody else?”

“There was no need, and we would have had no chance against him anyway. I hate to say this, but no Sentinels in the MSF could win against Number 93, not even if all of us worked together,” Max puts his arm around Charles’ waist. “Most of his body has been replaced by prosthetics made from high-density alloys. His Sentinel senses have been similarly fortified. His spirit animals are ant swarms. This may sound crazy, but I suspect that the way he erases memories is to have his ants chew off other spirit animals’ internal organs.”

Charles is at a loss for words. It takes a while for the Monégasque to find his voice again. “Fuck. I want to throw up.”

“I’m here.”

“Prosthetic technology is banned from military use. Not to mention what they had to do to produce a supersoldier like Number 93,” says Charles. “Do you think there will be more enemies like him?”

“It would be extremely difficult. Sentinels normally don’t survive transplants, their bodies usually reject them and they’d probably die on the operating table in round one. A total overhaul like his case would require that they break his bones one by one from a very young age, and gradually replace his human tissues with prosthetic parts. Because his body had to grow, too, they would have had to replace the prosthetics every two years until he reached adulthood.”

“Sounds like pure fucking hell on earth.”

“That’s why nobody would expect a Sentinel like Number 93 to even exist, and it’s also the reason that the SSG cannot be defeated. Number 93 is worth more than a nuclear warhead to them. He represents the possibility of a mass-produced, prostheticized army of soldiers. With his arrival, the technology for the fortification of a Sentinel’s senses has also come of age.” 

Charles shivers under his palm. Their spirit animals are in the bed with them, the black-footed cat lying motionless on the blanket, ears flattened on its head. The lion licks the cat, laying itself down and shielding the cat with its belly. He kisses the edge of Charles’ ear until Charles looks up, green eyes peering straight into his. 

“And how did you know all of that, Max?”


	25. Blood Nature

Two boys head for the summit on their bikes, two dogs running in front of them. The sea breeze ruffles their hair, making their loose tank tops billow. 

“Alex! I’ll race you to the rock!”

The boy in the red tank top speeds up. The boy behind him sighs and pedals harder. Alex eventually manages to catch up. He drops his bike in the grass and collapses under a tree. 

“I’m exhausted, Marc.”

Marc pulls a tennis ball out of his pant pocket and hurls it far away. The two dogs race to retrieve it. Marc throws the ball again. The yellow orb falls on the back of his leather shoes. The smile on Marc’s face fades. 

“It’s time to go home.”

The familiar landscape quickly recedes, and air fills his lungs again. He falls onto the wet floor, making a jarring metallic clank. Someone puts an oxygen mask on him to help him get used to normal breathing. He coughs up a pool of blue liquid, some of it dripping out of his nostrils. 

“Readouts are stable,” figures in lab coats come and go around him, “synchronization of nerve signals at 98%, within safe range. Analysis of cerebrospinal liquid to be submitted. Retrieval of Number 93 complete.”

He is given permission to sit. A middle-aged man shines a flashlight at his eyes. He does not blink. 

“Marc, take my hand.”

So he does, raising his arm to take the man’s hand with his cold, metallic fingers. He laughs.

“I can crush your hand if I’m not careful, Dad.”

“You won’t,” his father smiles, pulling his son into a powerful embrace. “No one knows you better than I.”

“Dr. Julià Marquez,” a researcher in a mask puts a hand on Julià’s shoulder, “you should go to the lab now.”

“Take care of yourself, Marc,” Julià pats him on the head, “I’ll visit again.”

“See you, Dad.”

Number 93 sits primly in his chair on the other side of the one-way mirror, allowing checks to be performed on him. His expression is innocent and relaxed, like he’s watching TV on his living room sofa. Julià watches his son, feeling slightly relieved. He immediately finds himself drowning in his sense of guilt again. 

“Dr. Marquez, we went over this many times. About the way you should address Number 93.”

“He’s my son. Whether he’s made of flesh or metal, he’ll always be Marc,” Julià gives the researcher a stern look, “and it’s not your place to tell me what I should call him.”

The researcher falls silent, but obviously not because he’s deferring to Julià’s authority. Julià quickly crosses the airtight cabin, brushing shoulders with several armed patrol officers before returning to his office. On his desk is a computer, assorted printed models, as well as a family photo. A young couple smile brilliantly at him from inside the picture frame, the wife holding the elder son’s hand and the husband cradling the younger son in his arms. 

“Roser,” Julià holds up the picture frame and brushes his fingers over his wife’s face, “I’m so sorry that I can’t be by your side. I won’t ask for your forgiveness. I just hope that everything is well with you and Alex.”

He sits back in his chair, pressing the picture frame against his chest. He recalls the way Alex would grab his fingers and clumsily trip over himself. Alex had eyes like a fawn, cried easily, and was much harder to take care of than his brother. That was why they realized that Alex was a Sentinel first. He doesn’t know what tribulations await this shy, gentle child in a world of normal people, but Roser is a good mother, and she’s going to take care of Alex. The boy will grow up happy and healthy to enjoy an ordinary but carefree life. 

_It would be great to see Alex again._

Julià pulls a blanket over himself. He looks at the ceiling lights and realizes that not even a fly could make it inside the research building. He sometimes wonders where it all started. In the beginning, he had a stable job and a loving wife. They had their first kid, then their second. The problems manifested themselves after Alex’s birth. Alex was always crying. He would cry throughout the night and not even Roser could do anything to comfort him. Alex was only ever calm when his brother Marc was in the same room as him. As a medical researcher, Julià quickly realized that Alex was most likely a Sentinel. His overly heightened senses were keeping him awake at night. It was a problem, but not impossible to deal with. After discussing it with Roser, he hired a counselor from the Sentinel Academy to help care for Alex. 

Everything seemed back on track. Marc was active and adventurous, always looking to try something new. _Boys will be boys_ , thought Julià, so he let Marc explore to his heart’s content in the family yard. They were opening presents on Christmas Day when Marc was five and Alex was two. Marc adored his brother, so he took Alex into his arms and helped him undo the ribbons. Alex brandished his arms, a few incomplete syllables falling out of his mouth. Marc laughed. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll open this one.”

The brothers seemed to communicate in a way that Julià didn’t quite understand. He thought that it was perhaps because of the flesh and blood they shared. Marc took the paper box and shook it against his ear. He opened the lid. 

“It’s a bell!”

Alex giggled, reaching out to grab the bell from Marc’s hand. Marc deliberately kept it out of his reach. Alex brandished his arms clumsily until he accidentally hit the bell, knocking the brass object into the fireplace, where the flames immediately consumed the ribbon. 

Alex started to cry. Roser was just about to console her son when Marc walked up to the fireplace, picked up the red-hot bell from the flames, and returned to Alex with a smile on his face. “Look, I got it back!”

Alex cried harder, not even looking at the bell in Marc’s hand. Before Julià even realized what had happened, Roser screamed and pulled Marc to the kitchen by his wrist. She rinsed his hands with cold water and looked frantically for clean pieces of cloth. Seeing Julià frozen on his spot, Roser shouted at him, her voice breaking. 

“Take Marc to the doctor! Both his hands are burned!”

Marc stared blankly at Julià, not knowing what he did wrong. Roser dressed the horrible burns on his right hand, fighting back her tears. Alex suddenly let out a high-pitched cry as if he was the one getting burned. Julià stood still, not knowing whether he should pick up the crying Alex or take Marc to the hospital. 

Marc was not badly wounded, but he was going to end up with scars. Even though he didn’t seem uncomfortable at all, the doctor prescribed him painkillers. After Marc took the painkillers, Alex finally stopped crying and fell asleep, exhausted, in Julià’s arms. 

The checkup that followed had Julià and his wife picking up their jaws from the floor. The quantitative sensory tests revealed that Marc was incapable of feeling pain, touch or temperature. He suffered from an exceedingly rare disorder called CIPA, and his condition was even more extreme than any known case. His entire sensory system was nonfunctional. He shouldn’t have been able to see or hear, yet he somehow grew uneventfully to be five years old like other children. 

Another report answered the questions in Julià’s mind. Marc was a Sentinel, and one powerful enough that he was able to recreate a normal person’s sensory experience using his Sentinel senses alone. The doctor immediately asked for their consent to make Marc’s case a research topic, and Roser rejected the request without hesitation. Julià recalled how Marc would call out to his brother when Alex was still in his mother’s womb, how the brothers had always been able to communicate in their own unique way, and how Alex had reacted violently every time Marc had gotten hurt. 

As reluctant as he was to admit it, every little detail pointed to one possibility: that Marc had most likely bonded to his brother before Alex was even born. This meant that Alex would have to feel all the pain from Marc’s injuries until Alex was able to protect himself with a spiritual barrier. He had thought himself ready to become the father of two, but neither he nor Roser had been prepared for any of this. Had they found out about Marc’s condition before Roser’s second pregnancy, thought Julià, he would never have allowed Alex to have been born. 

As soon as he said these words, Roser slapped him and returned to the nursery with Alex. Julià fell into the sofa in a daze. He found Marc standing in front of the stairs, looking at him. 

“Hey, Marc,” he spreads out his arms, “come to Daddy.”

Marc scurried up to him and sat down in his lap, a motorcycle toy in hand. Marc looked almost exactly like Julià did when he was little. When he smiled, he was like a prince coming to save the day in musicals. For a while, he had feared his own son; he had no idea how Marc lived in and perceived the world. Now he had Marc sitting in his lap, playing with the toys and smelling like fabric softener, delicate and lovely like anything else he could possibly imagine. 

Marc looked up at him with light brown eyes. 

“Daddy?”

“Daddy’s always here.”

Alex was growing fast, and it was making them concerned about Marc’s development. In fact, Julià knew what was going on: Marc was constantly getting himself hurt and breaking his bones, which didn’t help with growth; Marc also didn’t feel hunger, and would go the entire day without eating if they weren’t watching. To Marc, there were always more exciting things to do than eating, which were usually the exact things that got him hurt. 

Roser was at her breaking point. Julià saw his wife get mad at Marc at the dinner table time and time again. Marc would finish his meal and proceed to forget to eat the next one. Roser was shouting so much one day that all three males at the table cowered. Alex then snatched Marc’s plate and ate the rest of the food. 

Roser sat alone at the edge of the bed. Julià slowly approached his wife and put his arm around her shoulder.

“I can’t take it any more,” Roser shook her head. “Julià, what did I do wrong?”

“No no no, dear. This is not a punishment.”

“I really didn’t want to get mad at Marc, but I…”

Julià let Roser cry her heart out in his arms. He knew that there was nothing he could say to really console his wife. He had his work to escape to, but even with the help of a babysitter, Roser still had to deal with Marc herself. They couldn’t even send Marc to a regular school, because Marc managed to break his arm the very first day they did so. 

“I have an idea. It’s just an idea.”

“It’d better not be a bad one that only makes me madder,” sobbed Roser.

Julià said, “I’m thinking of sending one of them to the Sentinel Institute affiliated with the Militaires Sans Frontieres…”

“No way,” Roser rose to her feet, “you’d be pushing my son into the fiery pit of hell.”

“But only the Institute can give them training that’s actually useful…”

“And then what? Send them out with a gun to kill or be killed?” Roser stared angrily at him. “Never mention it again. Ever.”

If he had any other option, Julià would of course have wanted to keep his children away from the battlefield. But he did believe that only Sentinels could teach other Sentinels to live with their overly heightened senses. As much as they loved Marc and Alex as parents, only people like Marc and Alex could understand them. Not every Sentinel joined the army after graduating from the Institute, anyway; many more became policemen, investigators, or security officers.

Julià knew very well that given how gifted Marc was, he would most likely be selected to join the army if his talent was discovered. Chances were that he would even be destined for top international military organizations like the MSF. If this were to happen, Alex would almost certainly volunteer to join the army as well, given how much he looked up to and relied on his brother. 

So he planned to have Alex attend alone, allowing him and Roser to focus on taking care of Marc. He would tell Alex to underperform on purpose so that he could return to his family after graduation. Roser’s fury did not deter him. It was the instinct of a mother to be overprotective of her children, he thought, that led Roser to reject the most ideal solution. 

He wrote to the Sentinel Institute, and took Alex to an interview using an amusement park visit as his cover. The plan was carried out unnoticed until Roser was waiting for him at the door one day, her face grim and her hand clutching the admission letter from the Institute. 

Marc and Alex were watching a soccer match on TV in their room, bickering all the while. Marc had injured himself again last week, breaking his collarbone when he was trying to show off his descending skills while biking with Alex. Roser was furious enough that she forbade Marc from going outside. 

“Julià, you better have an explanation for this.”

Roser held up the envelope. Julià swallowed. “This was the best solution I could think of. Alex won’t…”

“They came to our house, and of course they had fucking Sentinels with them. The two Sentinels spotted Marc before they even walked in the door. They asked me why I didn’t let Marc apply,” Roser shoved the envelope in his chest. “Now these people know that both of my kids are Sentinels.”

“What about Marc? Did he say something?”

Before Roser could speak, Marc raised his neck to look at him. “Dad! The instructors from the Sentinel Institute said that I could go, too!”

Roser shrugged, her expression surly. Julià hesitated briefly and said, “how about we let kids decide for themselves?”

“I’m taking them away.”

Roser turned around and walked back inside the house.

“Where?”

“The US. Mexico. South America. Anywhere is fine as long as we’re far enough away from these hounds that they’ll never think of touching Marc and Alex again.” Roser went back to the room and threw the luggage onto the bed, “I never thought that you would do this, Julià. I can’t trust you anymore.”

“Roser!”

Roser didn’t look at him. She dragged the luggage with her and shouted to the boys, “Marc! Alex! Stop playing and get in the car!”

Alex didn’t want to leave. “But I have the piano lesson, and Marc has to go see the doctor…”

“I’m taking Marc to the clinic now,” Roser grabbed Alex’s wrist, “and you won’t be having a lesson today.”

“You’re lying, Mom,” Alex was almost crying. “Mom, why are you so angry and sad?”

Roser fell apart. She sat on the floor and began to sob uncontrollably. The two boys stood helplessly beside her, looking much more afraid than when they broke the neighbors’ window for the first time. Julià walked up to his wife, trying to comfort her, but Roser angrily slapped away his hand. 

“I’ve had enough,” she rose to her feet and looked at her children as if all of her motherly tenderness had been washed away in her tears. “Marc, Alex, make your choice. I’m leaving this home today and I won’t ever come back. Get in the car if you want to go with me. I won’t wait.”

“Roser!”

“I’ve had ENOUGH!” Roser roared like a wounded beast, and the two boys shuddered. “Julià, you’ll pay for your choice. So will I, of course. We’ll all pay for what we choose. Farewell, my dear.”

He watched his wife dash into the garage, start the engine and back up into the car lane. Roser honked forcefully a few times. Marc and Alex stood on their spot, not knowing what to do. 

Julià collapsed into the sofa once more. 

“I don’t know what to do either, boys. You can choose.”

Alex held tightly onto his brother’s hand, waiting for Marc’s decision. Marc looked at their mother, who was sobbing in the car, and then at Julià. Finally, he pried Alex’s fingers away from his hand, smiling at his brother. 

“You go with Mom.”

Alex was about to say something, but Marc smiled and shook his head. He grabbed his brother’s wrist, putting it against his own chest and then his ear. The brothers’ foreheads touched, and their mutual intent was communicated and understood. 

“I’m always here, Alex,” Marc pushed Alex on the back. Alex was still reluctant to leave. He looked back at his brother as he walked, step by step, down the stairs. 

“Dad,” Marc threw himself into Julià’s arms, hugging him. “This is what you planned, right?”

“Try not to touch your wound.”

He put his son down, fighting to keep smiling. 

“Alex and I both knew. We talked about all of it. Every sentence, every word. We were ready,” Marc sat down in front of him like a tiny adult in his own right. “We’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

Julià could no longer hold back his tears. He turned his face away, not wanting his son to see this helpless side of him. Roser honked some more, and Alex had to run. 

To this day, Julià still remembers everything that happened next. It had drizzled during the day. There were puddles and leaves on the ground. The asphalt was missing a corner, and had been for years without repair. Alex tripped over his shoelaces and fell in the middle of the road. Roser didn’t see him and kept on honking. Marc immediately dashed out of the door before Julià even realized what was happening outside of it. This was a premeditated murder, the target being his wife. No one knew that Alex was going to throw a wrench into the works. A heavy truck veered off course in the middle of a lane change, charging directly at Roser’s car. Marc, who had grasped what was going on before anyone else could, chose to push Alex away as the latter was just getting to his feet. 

The truck crashed into the back of Roser’s car. The airbag saved Roser while the window glass shattered all over the asphalt. Julià stumbled out of the door to see his wife kneeling and wailing next to the street, her head covered in blood. A pool of red was expanding from under the truck, a little hand lying severed next to the wheel. He still recalled the warmth of that hand when it had embraced him just moments ago. 

Alex sat several meters away, the blood from his nose quickly dying his shirt red. “Mom,” he called out softly, before passing out on the ground. 


	26. Iron Will

“You ready, Nico?”

Daniel shouts at his partner ten meters away. Summer in Southern France is endless sun and heat, steaming and distorting their view of the airport runway and the horizon beyond. The Renault engineer is setting up the speedometers and high-speed cameras. The two Sentinels put on their equipment. Several electric cables as thick as their thumbs connect the armored exoskeletons to batteries half their height. Nico Hulkenberg gives him a thumb up. He can’t help but be reminded of another German by the name of Nico, who brushed shoulders with him in Paris a few months ago. 

“I worry about the safety of this thing in the maximum output mode,” Daniel says to the engineer next to him. “Last time when we tested it in the rain, the transmission system straight up short-circuited on us.”

“That’s what we have the insulation layer for,” the engineer tucks her long hair behind her ears. She checks the data on her computer one last time before pulling the cord. 

“I thought you just wanted your Thanksgiving turkeys roasted early,” mutters Daniel. 

“Be gentle with her, boxer,” the engineer slaps Daniel hard on the back. He yelps, feeling the pain of the sensor electrodes piercing his spinal cord. 

“How about some _warning_ next time before you do that?!”

“I’m really sorry, stud.”

She shrugs and returns to her post. Daniel has no choice but to shake his head, trying to take his mind off the pain. Armor used by Sentinels are different from the standard exoskeletons distributed to other members of the Militaires Sans Frontieres. In addition to higher precision and faster reaction speed, they also come with more powerful functions. The biggest difference in core technology is that Sentinel armor is directly controlled by the consciousness of the user, the nerve impulses being transmitted to the equipment through an implant in their skull. The response is in turn transmitted back to their brain, making it much more efficient than having algorithms trying to keep up with users in real-time.

When Daniel first joined the MSF, neurotransmission technology was still restricted to medical use for physical rehabilitation purposes. However, when Daimler announced an increased investment in Team Mercedes, their MSF project, the Committee that oversees the MSF’s operations abruptly changed their tune and green-lit the technology for military use. Daimler is a world leader in neurotransmission technology, and soon Team M rose to undisputed dominance in combat operations. 

_Renault is trying to catch up with Daimler._ This is the official reason Daniel gave for joining Renault. As the starting gun fires, he kicks back hard and feels the strong reaction force from the ground. This is all coming together nicely, as if the extraordinary senses he was born with are now finally getting the body they deserved to be housed in. He is obsessed with its speed and power. It’s perhaps the exact reason that he doesn’t want to retire and leave, even though the politics in the MSF are tiring him out.

He dashes past the finishing line and hears the shrill sound of metal being scraped against the ground. He turns around to find Nico lying motionless in the styrofoam buffer, having crashed into the runway barrier. He runs up to Nico. The German sits up slowly, his equipment having already disconnected itself for protection. 

“Are you alright?” Daniel pulls Nico up to his feet.

“Beats hanging there like a cow like last time,” Nico pushes the eject button to release himself from the steel shell.

After some questioning, he appears to be unhurt but is still sent to the team doctor’s office for a checkup. Nico’s spirit animal stays close to its master, determined and obedient. This is a well-built German shepherd, with a beautiful black back and large, perked ears. Daniel has the honey badger slip into the room and sit down in front of the shepherd. 

_You’re a Guide?_

_Yes._ The shepherd flicks its ears. 

The doctor pronounces Nico perfectly healthy, though he recommends some rest. The shepherd rises with its master and walks up to Daniel outside the door.   
  
“Treat you to dinner?” the German points to the exit of the airport outside their window. They will have a bit of free time today to explore the immediate area around the airport. Daniel flexes his shoulders and agrees to the plan. 

“The reliability of that thing is terrible,” says Daniel, squeezing more sauce onto his plate. Nico shrugs and sips his juice. 

“The previous version didn’t have enough motor output, so the engineers spent most of their time on that. They ended up completely losing the balance. I’m afraid you picked a bad time to join Renault, bud.”

“If there are ever good times and bad times, that is,” says Daniel.

“Sometimes you may feel like you’re making the choice. The truth is that the choice is being made for you,” Nico reclines in his chair, gazing at the setting sun. “I have a feeling that you want something from me. From Renault.”

“I have some questions. Feel free to answer the ones you know.”

“Is there any particular reason that I have to?”

“No,” Daniel beams at him, “but I think the management of the MSF as a whole, including the Committee, are not going to like the questions I’m about to ask you.”

“I didn’t even realize that I knew any secrets with that kind of importance,” Nico’s smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. “Ask away. I’ll tell you what I know.”

The shepherd stands up, shaking its fur and carefully sniffing the honey badger. Daniel paces his breathing and starts exchanging thoughts with Nico. 

_Do you recall knowing any Sentinels with very special abilities?_

_What kind of special are you talking about?_

_I can’t tell you, because I also don’t know the details._ Daniel places his hand on the desk. _But you would certainly have noticed this Sentinel._

Nico smiles at him, full of meaning. _You’re lying, Daniel. You know exactly who this Sentinel is. Tell me a name, and I will give you my answer._

Daniel responds with a smile of his own. _It was just a test._

 _I’m not weaker than you._ Nico is calm. _It’s only fair to trade honesty for honesty._

_Seven years ago, when you were working for the Indian, was there anything special about the Sentinel named Jules Bianchi?_

_Yes._ Nico replies, and the channel falls silent. He is thinking. Daniel looks into the German’s eyes. Nico lowers his gaze and takes another sip of his lemonade. 

_He was special. Perhaps even one-of-a-kind. I have never seen any other Guide with his ability, before him or after him. But he didn’t really use or abuse his ability, and I would probably have forgotten about it had you not mentioned it._

_What did he do?_

Nico blinks at Daniel.

_He did the same thing to you._

Daniel doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Nico proceeds to announce his conclusion. 

_He planted himself into your subconscious._

“You ready, Nico?”

The French boy shouts at him from the edge of the cliff. A starry night sky hangs over their heads as the campfire crackles. 

Nico waves his hand and slips back into the tent as he hears Jules drop into the water. Military exercises for reserve members can feel more like vacations, since they have lots of time to just enjoy the scenery outside of training. After a while, Nico senses someone returning to the tent, lying down on the tarp next to him. 

“What’s it like to be in real battle, Nico?”

He closes his eyes, pretending to not have heard Jules. Jules falls silent for a moment before suddenly asking again, “do you get scared?”

“…Is it important?”

“I don’t know,” says Jules, “I don’t know if I’m going to get scared or how scared I’m going to get. I don’t know if I’ll be too scared to hold onto my gun.”

“If you are, you need to think about dropping out.”

“They didn’t leave me with that option,” says Jules. Nico doesn’t want to hear this kind of response. 

“There are many kinds of fear,” says Nico. “Fearing that your bullet won’t hit the enemy is very different from fearing that it will. Losing grip on your gun because you’re afraid of being killed is also very different from losing grip on your gun because you’re afraid of killing others. Both would mean that it’s game over, though, so I guess they’re not that different after all.”

“Which one are you?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“You’re a good guy.”

“Thanks,” Nico rolls on his back, “as a good guy, I hope I’ve earned a ‘goodnight’.”

“Goodnight, Nico.”

Jules’ voice is soft like the impression he gives as a human being: gentle, polite, shy and kind. He doesn’t look like someone who belongs in the Special Forces. 

Nico does not fall asleep. Dark shadows lurk in the corners of the night, ready to pounce on him at any moment. 

_Murderer._ An old woman crying and throwing stones at him. Her son’s scattered limbs. He holds onto his rifle, knowing that he can take the old woman’s life any time he wants. He won’t even have to aim. He just saved his team when the woman’s son had produced a grenade from inside his clothes. The bullet had pierced the man’s calf before the grenade exploded. 

_Let’s go, Nico._ Someone is pushing him on the back. He raises his rifle and sends a bullet soaring over the old woman’s head. He turns and advances towards the other end of the line. Mortar fire explodes around them, and gravel keeps falling onto his head. His consciousness is spread all over the battlefield. Shouts, cries, screams, wails, weaving themselves into a giant web and trapping him inside. 

“Nico, it’s our turn.”

Jules pushes him again. He finally snaps back to himself, realizing that he’s standing at the front of the line. They are doing an obstacle course with body weights today in teams of two. The other soldiers won’t go easy on them just because they are Sentinels. The submachine gun is heavy in his hands. In his brain, he can trace every detail of the way its components are shaped, as well as the lethal power the bullet carries as it exits the barrel to penetrate flesh and bone. 

His feet are immersed in muddy water. He moves his legs mechanically to keep up with Jules, not knowing why he is still doing it. Sunlight filters through the leaves to fall on their backs. His consciousness hovers one foot above him, watching the two soldiers advance with an indifferent stare. 

Jules jumps off the boulder first. The water comes up to his chest, and he has to grab onto rocks and twigs to stabilize himself. Nico stands on the bank and watches Jules fumble his way forward in the current. Then, slowly, very slowly, he walks into the water, straightening up and holding his weapon. 

Water comes over Nico’s head. He opens his eyes and feels a real calm for the first time. The current compresses his restless senses until they are but a tiny ball of strings. The world finally leaves him alone. The water embraces him, vast, tender, ice-cold. The calmness feels like a siren’s kiss, intoxicating and lethal. 

He coughs out a bunch of bubbles, falling towards the river bottom. 

“Jules saved you.”

Daniel and Nico walk slowly back towards the airport along the road. Nico puts both hands in his pockets, looking at the color of the clouds on the horizon. 

“He had a special ability…and I even felt like it had very little to do with the fact that he was a Sentinel. He was just too kind and too empathetic towards others. For him, it was very easy to enter another person’s mind and leave his trace there. What he did was kind of like setting fire to a piece of his own soul to rekindle someone else’s will to live.”

“Like a transfer of his own consciousness.”

“It’s not quite that dramatic,” Nico shakes his head. “What he did to me was more like hypnosis, if a lot more taxing. It was like he put a safety net under my consciousness. Every time I fall, it catches me so that I don’t shatter on the asphalt.”

“But that could just be the tip of the iceberg of what made him special.”

Nico’s lips tighten. “If he was really capable of more — if he could really transfer his consciousness into the spiritual worlds of others, there was no way that he would have been able to maintain the integrity of his own self. He wouldn’t have been the man I knew.”

 _Or maybe Jules_ was _actually capable of maintaining the integrity of his own self while also transferring his consciousness into the spiritual worlds of others. Maybe his self was transferred along with his consciousness…_

  
_You are very close._

  
Daniel winces. He’s thankful that Nico does not notice. The phantom voice still lingers in his ear. Before he met Jules, Daniel had never thought it possible for a consciousness to be implanted. On the day that he fell into a coma after sustaining his injury, Jules grasped onto Daniel, who was spiritually connected to him, like a drowning man grasping onto floating wood. He entrusted Daniel with his dying wish. For the past few years, Daniel has been trying to understand what was happening in his spiritual world. He then discovered that he seemed to be capable of something similar, as long as the other party trusted him fully and openly like Max did. 

Still, Daniel has no idea what he managed to place inside Max’s subconscious. He can only hope that his good intentions will end up helping Max. This is completely different from a transfer of the consciousness. But if Jules’ consciousness still resides inside a body, if it still hopes to return to those he loves, and if that consciousness keeps on radiating its energy, after all this time…

Then it would explain what Daniel is experiencing. Why he’s always felt that Jules is still alive. It’s because inside his spiritual world are pieces of Jules, pieces that are showing him the way to find the missing others, driving him towards the singular truth at the end of it all. 


	27. Cage

Charles puts on his blindfold at the shooting range. An abundance of rifle parts are spread out on the table in front of him. Only one weapon can be assembled from them; parts from several other rifle models have been mixed in. He hovers his palm over the table, examining each piece with his Sentinel senses. Soon he has his answer. An automatic rifle takes shape in his hands. Charles shoots with it until the cartridge is half empty before he removes his blindfold. 

A dozen bullet holes are distributed precisely in the target’s head and chest areas. The paper target roll resets automatically. Charles lowers the rifle and takes off his ear muffs. As he grabs his water bottle for a drink, Seb tosses a red metal rod at him. 

“You forgot this,” Seb reminds him. He looks down and realizes what’s been missing.

“I’m still not used to the rapid rack,” Charles inserts the rod into the chamber and aims again. He exhales, “thanks, Seb.”

“You’ve been worked up lately,” Seb folds his arms, “is it because of Max?”

He looks at his teammate. Something tells him that Seb means well. 

“I didn’t fight with him, if you’re worrying about what happened at the Azerbaijan base.”

Seb smiles. “Of course I know that you aren’t fighting. I was about to send my suit to dry clean when I saw Max leave your room.”

“So?” Charles raises an eyebrow.

“Most of the time, people sitting in the offices don’t give a damn whom you spend your better nights with. So you and I get to keep part of our freedom. Just part of it, though.”

“You don’t have to talk to me like a parent, Seb,” Charles leans himself against the table. “Things are going pretty well between me and Max, though obviously there won’t be any new developments for a while. Unless Mattia or Christian decides to bother either one of us, I think our relationship is being allowed. That’s all.”

“Do you love him?”

“I think I do right now.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you,” Seb pats him on the shoulder. “we all need something to anchor ourselves to, a reason to fight…otherwise it’s easy to lose your motivation to continue.”

 _But you have become shackled to that very reason, haven’t you?_ Charles looks into Seb’s eyes. _Did the upper management of Fiat do something…_

“I have my own contingency plan,” Seb interrupts Charles. To others, it looks as if he’s in a conversation with himself. “But you need to be prepared. The only one who can take care of you here is you.”

Charles still doesn’t quite understand what Seb is trying to say. He has the feeling that Seb has been doing certain things because he was ordered to, things that disappointed him profoundly. Charles does not know why, but Seb somehow always looks fatigued and utterly fed up. It’s as if they live in completely different worlds despite sitting in the very same room. Seeing that Seb is about to leave, Charles calls out to him. 

“…Seb!”

His teammate turns.

“Er…good luck to you,” Charles hesitates for a moment before adding, “and send my regards to Kimi.”

“Thanks.”

Charles watches as the door closes in front of him. He does not dislike Seb; he just doesn’t really know how to be around him. Many things happened in the two months that followed the hearing. Although Max does not look it, Charles knows that his boyfriend is feeling a bit discouraged. The mistake in the mission, Daniel leaving, not being able to keep his friend from getting sent prematurely into battle — the past half year hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing for Max. If anything, though, Charles is thankful for it; he most likely wouldn’t have gotten to know Max so well without those setbacks. 

All Sentinels taking part in the operation have now arrived at the training center. The center sits on an island in international waters, with supplies arriving mostly by air or sea. After walking for the better part of an hour on the stone-paved path that runs along the shoreline, Charles arrives at a cove. Here the sea turns the blue-green color of malachite. At the top of the cliff, rock formations and plant cover provides natural shade from the sun. He pokes his head out from behind the makeshift iron railings and sees a young man with blond hair in nothing but a pair of shorts. The man resurfaces and slowly approaches the shore. He makes no sound at all, but the man soon looks in his direction and smiles. 

Several minutes later, Max pushes him onto the sand, its white grains clinging to his hair. Max kisses him somewhat impatiently, but seems in no hurry to take off his clothes. They stay glued to each other’s lips for a long while before parting. 

“I knew you’d be here,” Charles can’t suppress his smile. 

“You missed me too much, love.”

Another lingering kiss. Max cups his chin, careful as if he’s clutching onto a precious archaeological find, yet eager to take a closer look. Charles grasps Max’s hand and kisses him back emphatically before putting Max’s hand into his own shirt next to his waist. 

“Are you sure about doing it here?”

He grabs a hold of what is between Max’s legs.

“I missed you too much. You know that.”

Max takes him up on the offer, sweeping him off his feet in a bridal carry. Before he can straighten himself up, however, Max slips and falls on the sand, having underestimated the weight of an adult man. Charles falls with him, yelping in pain as his butt makes contact with the ground before bursting out laughing. Max looks up with his face covered in sand, making Charles laugh even harder. 

“You got fat!” yells Max, wiping sand off his face and lunging at Charles. Charles laughs so hard that he can barely breathe. He stumbles to dodge Max’s attacks as their spirit animals frolic around them. The black-footed cat slips between Max’s feet and meows at the lion until the latter is provoked into lunging at it, then speeds away quickly with its much lighter build. 

The game of tag eventually ends with Charles tripping over himself. Max pins Charles to the ground, his knees straddling Charles at either side. Charles’ chest heaves heavily from exertion and laughter as he lies on his back under Max, slowly undoing his shirt buttons and belt. Max puts his hand into Charles’ pant pocket, pulling out a condom and a tube of lube. 

“You little slut.”

“Don’t try to tell me you don’t like it.” 

Charles smiles provocatively. Despite his language, Max prepares Charles with the utmost patience, so that both of them can enjoy the sex as much as possible. Charles likes Max’s arrogance just as much as he finds it impossible to resist Max’s tenderness. There’s also stubbornness and seriousness, as well as the occasional clumsiness, not to mention the most important part of Max: his unwavering belief. Max’s fingers explore the inside of him as he holds onto Max’s cock, bringing them together to allow them to feel the desire in each other. His thoughts capture Max’s. The spiritual world of his beloved is as serene and beautiful right now as the turquoise ocean around them. He can relax completely and let himself fall into it, watching the corals sway gently above his head. 

“Hmm…” Charles closes his eyes and carefully examines Max’s body and spirit like he did the rifle parts, “you’re in great form today.”

Max lifts his butt to allow him to be penetrated in a more comfortable position. To be honest, the first time did hurt; Charles has to admit that Max’s physique was part of the reason that he felt particularly fragile that night. After some pointless comparisons, though, it turned out that their sizes didn’t differ by much. Curiously, as eager as they were to measure themselves against each other in every way possible, the competitive spirit only doubled after they became a couple. Despite this, Charles is still in love with Max and craves intimacy with him even more than before. He doesn’t mind being on the bottom because he knows that Max is every bit as deeply infatuated with him. The moment he fell prey to Max, Max also fell prey to him. 

Charles bites onto Max’s shoulder, drawing a surprised yelp from Max. He knows that he’s not hurting Max, though.

“…Are you in pain?”

Max asks. He shakes his head, putting his elbows around Max’s neck and starts moving up and down by himself. Max is always asking Charles how he’s feeling because Charles cannot open up his consciousness to anyone, even to his boyfriend. It is a weird feeling: his real self seems to melt away like a snowflake as soon as it reaches the boundaries of his consciousness. He knows that Max is waiting for him on the other side of the storm, but he just can’t seem to breach the barrier that separates them to hand himself completely over to Max. Sometimes he wakes up next to Max filled with something akin to rage. He wants to grasp Max and shout, “why don’t you realize how much I love you?” Yet other times he finds himself overcome with sadness, knowing that he is trapped inside the cage of his own consciousness, and that he can only hold onto Max’s tender hand through its iron bars. 

“Max, Max,” he whispers into Max’s ear as he’s close to climaxing, “I love you.”

Max responds with even harder thrusts. They let themselves linger in the afterglow, Charles clinging onto Max’s warmth with both his hands and his spirit. 

Max kisses his forehead.

“Did anything happen today?”

“Not really,” Charles sits between Max’s thighs and rests his head on Max’s shoulder, “just normal training. I spent some time at the shooting range. Talked to Seb for a bit.”

“And?”

“There was nothing in particular. I don’t think he likes me, but I also can’t really say that he dislikes me. It seems like he’s been trying to warn me about something, though. I don’t know if it’s because of you. But then again, he helped you get me in the first place.”

“…I don’t know enough about what’s going on within your team, so I’m not sure I can make a call here,” says Max, “I should be safe, though. I do know some things that cannot be discussed openly, but I only heard them through researchers years ago, and I’ve never had any real proof. I don’t think I know any more than people like Nico Rosberg or Damon Hill. Seb has no reason to be worried about me.”

“I’ve been feeling a bit uneasy about it,” Charles sits down again with his back against Max’s chest. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you so much so soon…”

“But I need you to be honest with me,” Charles puts his hand over Max’s. “I don’t enjoy being a little boy who’s protected all the time and has no idea what’s really happening. I don’t want to be that any more. I want to share the burden of what you’ve experienced and dealt with in life. I’m a man, like you.”

Max squeezes Charles’ fingers in response, “I get it.”

Max broke open Charles’ cage. This is the first time Charles has opened himself up to anyone other than his Guide since Jules passed away — or ever, for that matter. Being born with a spiritual connection meant that Charles was used to not having to say anything to be understood. Instead of having to deal with learning curves in relationships, he was always able to resort to that innate connection. _Perhaps I was so well-protected that when I broke, I shattered._ Charles thinks to himself. _This is me being afraid of confrontation, of hurt, of relationships that aren’t thoroughly perfect…of losing you again. This is why I’m in so much fear._

“…I really love you.”

Charles raises his face and hooks his arms around Max’s neck. Max bends down obediently to kiss him. He doesn’t know how to express his affection other than through physical contact. The more honest and open Max is, the more Max trusts him, the more it pains him and the more disappointed and wretched he feels. 

His chest starts to ache once again like it is being torn apart. He opens his eyes to see Max looking at him, gentle but oblivious. He knows that Max is not feeling it. The syncing of their senses was most likely an after effect of Charles’ trip into Max’s subconscious. As time wore on, their souls have ceased resonating. 

“My love?”

Max asks. Charles shakes his head and buries his face into Max’s elbow. 

Seb holds onto the receiver and waits for the call to go through. This is the only way for soldiers on the island to contact the outside world. They are allowed to use the telephone every week, but Seb has rarely applied. He misses his family, family that he wishes he could return to perhaps more than any other Sentinel on the island, but he has to hold himself back and not let his feelings take away everything he’s fought hard for. 

The voice of an elderly male answers the phone. Seb tries to not sound weak.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Sebastian! It’s him, it’s him!” his father is overjoyed. He hands the phone over to his wife. “Seb, how are you?”

“I’m great, Mom,” smiles Seb, “Happy Birthday, Mom. I’m sorry I can’t be with you.”

“Gosh, Seb, nothing makes me happier than you staying safe. Your sisters and Fabian are here too, should I call them over?”

“No, Mom,” he lowers his head, forcing himself to smile. “What’s Fabian doing now?”

“He’s working at the crime lab of our local police station. His colleagues are great. You know we don’t really get any murder cases here,” his mother exhales in relief, “I’m quite happy with that.”

“Yes. It’s a good career for a Sentinel,” says Seb. “Having one Sentinel who’s in the army is already enough problems for the family.”

“I’m proud of you, Seb, no matter what you think of yourself. I’m very glad that my son is a Chief Sentinel of the MSF.”

“That reputation has never been anything but trouble,” Seb chuckles bitterly. “Mom, I…was also wondering about Hanna. How is she doing?”

“She’s married. To her childhood friend. They had two daughters before they got married, and they had one son recently.”

“What’s the guy like?”

“He loves her. He’s just a normal guy.”

“…Great. That’s great.”

“I’ll tell her you said hello.”

“No, please, no. I don’t want to bother her anymore,” Seb puts his other ear to the receiver. “Has anyone come knocking recently?”

“No. I don’t know why you keep asking that. And you asked about Hanna, too, all of a sudden…I thought you broke up with her when you joined the army.”

Seb wipes his face with his palm. He doesn’t know how to explain it to his family, but he knows that the right thing to say is nothing at all. His mother listens to his voice carefully before asking, “are you okay?”

“I am. Just a bit tired from the training.”

“Is anyone taking care of you?”

“You know how they treat us Sentinels like endangered animals. If they could, they’d probably put us in a glass case with a tag that says ‘Please don’t touch.’”

“I’m asking if you have someone, son.”

The corners of Seb’s mouth curve upwards.

“Yes.”

“What’s that person like?”

“Um…he looks like he’s difficult to get along with, but he’s very kind at heart. He doesn’t say much, but his actions speak louder than words.”

“…That doesn’t sound so bad,” he hears his mother’s sigh. “We miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

He chats briefly with his father, hanging up before the operator reminds him of the time limit. He buries his face in his arms and stays still for a while. The operator seems concerned and tries to pat him on the shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.”

Seb rises to his feet, his tone stiff. The operator freezes. He immediately switches to his usual smile and pats the operator on the shoulder, “I’m okay, pal.” He walks out of the iron gate and feels his insides turn cold and toughen once again. His youthful ambition, tainted in blood, slowly crystallizes into a dark resolve, something to sustain himself with. He knows that he has been dealing with the Devil; he once did it to feed his youthful greed, and now, like a cornered beast, he’s doing it to put up one last fight. 

But he must continue. He has to for the people he loves. 


	28. Wish

“Max,” Charles suddenly pulls out his earbuds and turns to his boyfriend next to his pillow, “have you thought about what you’re going to do after you retire?”

Max is playing a shooting game on the VR simulator in bed with both his hands on the joystick. Charles waits for a couple of minutes before Max finishes the game and pulls Charles into his arms. 

“I don’t know. You?”

“I’m thinking fashion design. I suck at drawing, though.”

“You can go study it in school,” the tip of Max’s nose grazes his shoulder. “You’re a fast learner. In everything.”

“Are you trying to suck up to me or cheer me up?”

“You can think of it however you want,” Max caresses his skin, fingers tracing the lines of defined muscles. “I wouldn’t lie to my boyfriend, because he’d see through it right away. Besides, there’s no need to.”

“Do people ever tell you that you’re great at flirting?”

Max grins, “thanks to you being willing to play along.”

They laugh and try to roll on top of each other. This is perhaps what a normal relationship should look like: two people who never get tired of hugging, kissing, lovemaking, or trading stories and even jokes that would only bore others to death. Charles is only now realizing how prejudiced he used to be against Max. He used to find Max extremely arrogant and full of himself, but he only got that impression because of Max’s very direct way of expressing himself. Max has experienced so much that is unimaginable to him. Moreover, Max considers all of it part of his responsibility, a path he must keep treading, the thorns in his crown. Only those who can endure the pain will go on to win the respect and glory. 

On top of it all, Max is also unbelievably gentle. He has always refused to believe that anyone would be able to retain that pure determination instead of having it shattered in the face of life’s chaos and cruelty. But Max managed it, and he made it look as easy as breathing. Charles is in awe of him, envious of him. The warmth of Max’s unreserved affection almost pains him. 

Max is close to stripping him bare when the bugle call suddenly rings out. The whole training center is filled with a piercing alarm sound. Max spits out a “fuck”, but like Charles, he quickly dresses and checks that he hasn’t put Charles’ belt or clip on himself by mistake. Minutes later, the soldiers are assembled on the drill ground as they wait for the inspecting official to speak. 

After Daniel’s departure, Pierre was promoted to become Max’s teammate. Charles happens to be standing next to his friend, and Max is one person removed from him. Pierre’s shoulder bumps lightly into his. 

_Charles._ Pierre gives him a quick look out of the corner of his eye. _You just came out of the RB barracks._

 _Well…actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now._ Charles keeps his gaze fixed ahead of him. _Max is my boyfriend._

_Really?_

_Yes. He has been for almost half a year._

_Are you okay?_

Charles is a bit puzzled. _I’m fine. Why do you ask?_

_I’m worried that he might hurt you and you might not want to tell other people._

Charles bumps his shoulder into Pierre’s. _That’s not how it’s like between me and Max. Don’t worry, Pierre, I can take care of myself._

_You know, Charles, I’ll be here any time you need me._

He smiles. 

The new mission will take place in the middle of a city. After a recent mass shooting, the police had reason to believe that the terrorists were planning further attacks. They reached out to the Militaires Sans Frontieres for assistance. The advance team have already finished gathering intel for initial operations. The involvement of the SSG has so far not been confirmed, but everyone is prepared for the worst-case scenario. 

The MSF personnel set up temporary camp at an abandoned school building on the outskirts of the city. Charles searches the campus for Max but doesn’t find him. Max is most likely away from the base for a meeting with contacts or some other similar task, but he can’t keep himself from worrying about Max. During the lunch break, he walks past his team and up to his friend. 

“Pierre!”

The Frenchman looks up, making space for him. Canned rations may not taste like much, but they at least supply him with the calories he needs. He puts his lunch down next to Pierre’s and sits. 

“You’re worried,” says Pierre.

“Do you know where Max is?”

“That actually kind of hurts — just kidding,” Pierre scratches his chin. He’s usually not the type to tease others. “He took an assignment and went to assist the police.”

“You’re not going? I thought teammates usually did these things together.”

“Uh…” Pierre looks hesitant, “Marko obviously didn’t think that I was up to the task.”

Charles’s brows furrow. “Why did he promote you if he doesn’t trust you?”

Pierre gives him a forced smile. “Maybe this is the best I can do.”

Charles feels puzzled, irritated. Pierre didn’t use to have that kind of expression on his face. It all happened after Pierre became Max’s partner due to Daniel’s departure. He recalls what Pierre said to him before they left for this place, and he thinks he has a guess. 

“Wait a second, Pierre. Did Max do something to you?”

“No! That’s not…Max is actually quite nice to me as a teammate. I was just really worried about you, since I knew what you went through…sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like that.”

Pierre looks so demoralized that even Charles’ hand on his shoulder feels feeble and pointless. 

“I’m more worried about you.”

“I don’t know, Charles. It feels like crap.”

“What are they doing to you?”

“Nothing in particular. Just work. It’s me. People say stuff, and I tend to let it get to me a bit too easily.”

“You can trust me, Pierre. We went through so much together. You’re my best friend. No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you.”

He hopes to make his friend feel better, like a real Guide is able to do. Pierre looks up at the ceiling and smiles weakly at him. 

“The only reason they’re keeping me at RB is to provide comfort to Max.”

“That’s not fucking true!” Charles can’t keep the swear words from falling out of his mouth in front of his friend. “You’ve always been an outstanding Sentinel. We’ve been competing since we were kids, and it’s not like I manage to beat you every time…to me, Pierre, you’re the best. You’re not an accessory to anyone else. They’re not being fair to you at all.”

“But you have to admit that Max is special. He’s just so incredibly powerful. When he’s out for the kill, the force of his spirit…it makes you shudder.”

“It’s because those people made you think that Max is unbeatable,” Charles wants to do something, anything, to cheer up Pierre. He searches himself desperately only to string together a few feeble sentences. “Max is…very authentic, and honest. He would never treat other people like tools. Trust me, you can work with him, and you can compete with him.”

“Daniel left because he didn’t want to become Max’s accessory, Charles,” Pierre smiles bitterly. “To RB, I’m just Daniel’s replacement, something to settle for until they find a better tool.”

“Max,” the old man looks up from behind the desk, “what are you waiting for? Show me the map you marked. I didn’t ask you to stay so that you could horse around.”

Christian Horner stands next to them. He eyes Max to tell him to hurry, as the red fox barks briefly at Max. Max clutches onto the terminal device in his hand, but he does not turn it on. 

“I can’t tell you what you want to know if you can’t tell me exactly what the mission is, Dr. Marko.”

“My instructions were clear enough,” says Marko.

“They were. Scanning a hundred square kilometers of crowded city with a population of two million at night and marking all the strong spirit signals I find. But surely it would be more effective to have multiple Sentinels scan different areas than me driving all the way around the city by myself?”

“Don’t ask too many questions, Max. You don’t want to get locked up again.”

Max rubs his thumb against the power button, his eyes on the silver-haired man in front of him. He knows what Marko is referring to. The closed plexiglass tank filled with the blue liquid. He experienced drowning repeatedly inside the tank when he was ten years old. It was a memory that he had discarded in order to protect himself. 

He is not afraid, at least not as afraid as Marko thinks he is. If this is the price he has to pay to gain strength, he would not complain.

“The strong signals are concentrated at police stations and military bases, as well as around the city hall and official residences. This is to be expected, as trained Sentinels typically work in those areas,” Max projects the screen onto the wall. “Due to the lax laws within the European Union regarding Sentinel registration, though, the number of Sentinels in the city far exceeds the official tally thanks to the substantial number of illegal immigrants. They are extremely spread out as well, so I can’t vouch for the accuracy of this image. I had only a short time to put it together.”

“This is going to be a problem,” says Horner, “we don’t have the manpower to search each area separately.”

“We can team up with the local Sentinel forces. They are capable of searching and reconnaissance too,” suggests Max.

“It’s not anything you need to concern yourself with,” Marko waves his hand. “Go back to your post. Don’t mention anything about your task.”

Max narrows his eyes. He eventually departs the office as he is told, but he leaves the slightest thread of a tendril behind, just enough for him to hear what Horner and Marko are saying.

“…That would allow us to minimize casualties.”

This is Horner’s voice speaking. Marko seems to brush it off. 

“Just make sure that those clumsy little brats don’t get in the way.”

“The reserve members are currently slotted to assist the police directly in quelling the riot,” says Horner, “but given the unpredictable circumstances that could arise in battle, I think it would be better to keep them on standby at the base.”

“We only have control over our own members.”

Horner falls silent for a moment before asking, “do you think he’s going to act without orders again?”

“I can’t answer that because we don’t have data to compare against. But your precious boy wonder will be fine, just like last time.”

“What happened last time drove Daniel away, though.”

“Nobody forced Daniel out. He chose to run with his tail between his legs. You need to rethink your approach, Christian.”

Max notices that Horner is walking towards the door, so he feigns nonchalance and leaves before Horner can see him. Horner and Marko do not always agree on things, but they still share a common interest. Rather than treating Sentinels like human beings made of flesh and blood like him, Marko prefers to view them the way a scientist views research subjects. Max wouldn’t say that he agrees more with either Horner or Marko, because at the end of the day he’s a still just warrior and nothing more than that. It didn’t even occur to him to question it until Daniel’s departure. Many things have changed within the past few months. Sometimes he feels like he has the freedom to choose, but other times he is simply being pushed forward. 

Maybe one day he will lose Charles, just like he lost Daniel. That idea suddenly pops into his head. He looks up at the sky above the school building, several migrating birds flying across its blue expanse. Even if he’s responding to Charles with everything he’s got, and even if he’s totally honest about every little thing he feels, he still has no idea what the future holds and what could suddenly disrupt the relationship between them. 

He really wants to see Charles right now. He needs Charles like he needs fresh oxygen after a long dive under the sea. It doesn’t take Max too much effort to find Charles, because Charles happens to be walking towards him. He is just about to wave when he sees the person next to Charles. 

Pierre freezes for a moment, too, but he smiles and breaks the awkward silence first. “Hey, Max,” he timidly puts some distance between them, “I think Charles has been looking for you…I’ll leave you guys to it.”

Before Max can say anything, Charles grabs his best friend’s arm and looks at Max like he’s got something to prove. “Max can take care of himself. Let’s go say hello to Anthoine.”

Max has no choice but to watch, perplexed, as his boyfriend and his teammate walk farther and farther away. He tries hard to remember anything he may have done to annoy Charles before they left for the base, but it only calls to his mind the way Charles looked when he was clinging to Max’s neck, eager to steal the next kiss. Max ends up succeeding in thoroughly pissing himself off. 

_Fine. It’s not like Charles is the only person I can talk to, anyway._ Max thinks to himself angrily before turning and walking off in the other direction. 

“Aren’t you being a bit too cruel to Max?”

Pierre can’t help but look back at Max, who is marching forward with clenched fists. Charles pouts and humphs.

“He’s not a baby anymore, and he shouldn’t have to be serenaded to sleep every night. Leave him be.”

Pierre finds it amusing. “This reminds me of when we were at the Institute. Max fought with you because you were ignoring him and he just couldn’t put up with it.”

“He had an issue with anger management,” Charles tilts his head, “that was why he charged like a bull at everyone and everything.”

“Do you guys do this a lot?”

“…Not really. Max usually talks to me first.”

“I think he’s great for you.”

“Maybe, if he treated my friends a bit better.” Charles suddenly looks at him, “why do you think that?”

Pierre laughs. “You should hear yourself when you talk about him. Trust me, I’ve never heard you talk that way about anyone else.”

Reluctant as Charles is, he soon admits to himself that he has indeed fallen hard for Max. 

“Don’t give him a hard time because of me, Charles,” says Pierre.

“You deserve to be treated better,” Charles tells him emphatically.

“I’ll have to prove that myself…I’ll have to fight for it.” 

Charles looks like he’s about to say more, but chooses to remain silent instead. Pierre sighs in relief. When he first heard about Max and Charles’ relationship, his reaction was indeed mostly one of shock and concern. The more he thought about it, though, the more it made sense to him. He’s not the kind to judge his friends for the romantic partners they choose, and Max is of course not a bad person at all. 

They talk about Max some more, and Pierre becomes completely convinced that Charles really is in love with Max. _That may not be such a bad thing_ , thinks Pierre. Even if Max and Charles’ relationship does take a turn for the worse, Pierre will be sure to do everything he can to help Charles get back on track. 

He will try, at least. He still remembers the nine months during which Jules lay in a coma. Charles convulsed and fainted frequently, and was in so much pain that he had to be prescribed drugs to suppress the overreactions in his brain. Despite being a Guide, he was powerless and unable to lend a hand to his best friend. 

_If only I were better, I’d have been spared from this feeling of helplessness._ Pierre became convinced of this the first time he saw Daniel. It was the day of Jules’ funeral. As Jules’ comrade in arms who was with him when he left the frontline, Daniel was in attendance. When Charles had a panic attack, it was Daniel who ran up to the boy who could barely breathe, held him in his arms, and quickly stabilized him to allow him to recover. 

_This is why I’m happy that I replaced Daniel_ , thinks Pierre. Even if everyone else treats him like a tool, he’ll still prove himself with everything he’s got, and show them that he can help the people he cares about. 

Anthoine’s face lights up with joy when he sees them. Pierre pulls both him and Charles into an embrace. 


	29. Dead Weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: character death.

Max is tying his shoelaces when he sees Charles walking towards him. He straightens up and can’t help but scoff, “I thought we were fighting again?” But his tone immediately softens as he gently squeezes Charles’ fingers, “I missed you a lot.”

“We haven’t seen each other for…four hours?” Charles glimpses at his watch. He does want to kiss Max, though, and is only kept from doing so because of how busy the camp is with foot traffic. Max reads the warmth in his eyes and also relaxes considerably. 

“Pierre is depressed,” Charles gets straight to the point, “because he is now your teammate.”

“I can’t help him with that,” says Max, “you know how much pressure you’re always under at a top team. I’m sure I don’t exactly look like someone who can be a counselor to others.”

“I get it.” Charles still doesn’t like the way Max put it, though. He sits down next to Max and watches people come and go around them. 

“I’ll share all of the testing data I have on my equipment with Pierre, if that makes you a bit happier. I hope to make him feel less bad about staying at RB.”

Charles nudges his shoulder closer to Max’s. “I wasn’t asking you to do anything against the rules…”

“I'm not. Helping Pierre would also be helping myself,” Max says frankly. 

“Pierre is a very important friend to me. Anthoine too, of course. They were my roommates for years and we knew each other as kids.”

Max nods to indicate that he’s listening. Charles lets his fingers settle in Max’s palm, feeling much calmer. 

“We went through a lot together. They were by my side in my worst moments. That’s why I can sometimes be a little…”

“It’s okay,” Max squeezes his fingers and smiles at him, “but I need you by my side, too. Not all the time, of course. I just hope that you’ll remember occasionally that your boyfriend is not a heartless robot.”

“I really did think that you were indestructible. Nothing fazes you.” Charles laughs and kisses Max’s temple, “I love you, Max.”

“Me too.”

They sit under the eaves for a while with their fingers locked, feeling the calming effect of each other’s presence. 

“Did something happen?” Charles asks, “does it have to do with you being away almost the entire day?”

“They — you know who I’m talking about — often have me carry out orders that aren’t from the MSF. Each team has its own operations, of course, so you probably get those sometimes, too.”

Charles nods, even though his teammate Seb is usually the one who gets sent away on such missions.

“It’s complicated. Everyone views things differently. They all have different interests that either coincide or conflict with each other. Most of the time, I give up trying to dig deeper. I just carry out my missions like a machine.”

“But you have a human’s heart.”

Max’s weight leans into his shoulder, “I’m a little tired.”

He smiles, “we can sit here for a bit longer.”

As the two boys enjoy their rare break, the order to launch the operation suddenly arrives. The terrorists have started a massacre in the streets. 

The sky is already dark when the MSF Sentinels arrive at the frontline. The police have closed several main roads and bridges in the area in an attempt to contain the damage. Charles and Seb are charged with assisting the police in a shootout with the terrorists at the theater. They arrived too late to save more of the spectating audience, however. Charles has to shut off part of his senses to keep the despair and dread lingering in the air from getting to him. 

Seb closes the eyes of a mother with an infant in her arms. Charles feels like he can’t take it anymore.

“Seb. How did you get used to this?”

His teammate straightens himself up, placing his right hand on the rifle out of force of habit. 

“I never did.”

Charles’ spirit animal is still searching for survivors, as is Seb’s. He hopes that the other teams are doing better. He’d very much like what they’re seeing to be the only casualties of the night. 

That’s unrealistic, though. Even without using his heightened Sentinel senses, Charles feels the city’s trembling, its screams, its cries. They finish searching the theater, having confirmed nearly two hundred dead. They leave the rest to the police and the medics. Seb sends a sobbing girl to an ambulance, then sits down next to the road. 

“I don’t know why anyone would want to kill so many innocent people.”

Charles says. He looks into the distance at the flashing lights on the police cars. A hint of moisture is in the air. 

“It’s going to rain,” says Seb.

“I hope the other teams are not going to be affected.” 

“Have you thought about having children, Charles?” Seb suddenly asks, then shakes his head. “You’re too young for this topic.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“I know. I can’t help but wonder, after all the shit we’ve been through, what kind of arrogance would have to possess one to bring an innocent soul into this world to suffer when it’s filled with such hatred, anger, conflict and exploitation.” Someone hands them bottled water, and Seb opens a bottle to take a drink before continuing. “I don’t know if I have the ability to protect my children. I don’t even know if I have the ability to protect anyone.”

“You’re an outstanding Sentinel,” says Charles.

“It only takes one bullet to kill me,” Seb points at his own forehead. “We’re not superhuman. We’re even more fragile than normal people in some ways.”

“Who do you want to protect, Seb?”

His teammate smiles, “my family, perhaps. No one is more important to me than them.”

Charles considers it and says, “I agree.” Max probably doesn’t need Charles to protect him. 

“It’s raining.”

Seb holds out a hand. They sit under the night sky, feeling the raindrops slowly wetting their faces. 

“Is there going to be more rain?”

Lewis wipes the water away from his goggles. He ends up pushing the goggles out of his face altogether to stop the rain from blurring his vision. A reply comes through on the radio. “The clouds will remain in the area for fifteen minutes.”

He and Valtteri have already made quick work of the terrorists at the city hall. They’re now scanning the perimeter for any others that may have slipped away, as several reserve Sentinels and policemen escort the hostages out of the hall. The battle is coming to an end at other locations, too, and the gunfire begins to subside. 

“I hope it’s not going to be a long night.”

Lewis says. He doesn’t mean much by it. Neither does he feel much at the praise the command showers him with over the radio. He was a boy from a poor neighborhood who wanted to use his talent to lift himself out of the filthy streets. So he chose to come to the battlefield to face gunfire and death. That’s all there is to it. 

Lewis used to think that he would be able to save the world. He was so special and so powerful, after all. He once became the youngest Chief Sentinel, and earned numerous accolades as a representative of justice fighting against evil and terrorism. He tries to remember it, but his memories are as tangled as things are between him and Nico. He recalls Nico pacing the room in front of him. He begins to yell at his teammate and ex-lover. Then Nico, finally ripping off his mask of civility, grabs Lewis’ collar and pushes him up against the wall. 

“We’re all just great guns waiting for someone else to pull the trigger, Lewis,” Nico looks at him, eyes full of restrained pain and sadness. “The ones who can actually put a stop to the war are the exact ones pushing us into it.”

“That’s why you’re running away? That’s why you’re leaving me behind at the MSF while you’re off to enjoy a second love life?” Lewis grabs Nico’s wrist. “You’re a coward. I’d probably have more respect for you if you straight out admitted that you got cold feet.”

“We’re not fighting for what we thought we were fighting for. At all. Lewis, I can’t afford to drag you into this. Stop making me.”

Lewis relents for a second. Nico seems so crushed and helpless, and he can’t smell any hint of a lie in Nico’s words. _This goddamn spiritual bond_ , he thinks. No matter how bad the fight gets between them, it always ends in kissing and lovemaking. They kiss silently. Nico lets go of Lewis’ collar, his tender fingers cupping Lewis’ face. Lewis takes hold of Nico’s right hand as it moves behind his own ear. He touches the wedding ring on Nico’s finger. 

“This is not fair to Vivian.”

Lewis says. Nico hangs his head.

“No, it’s not.”

“Is there no way to really end this?”

“No,” says Nico. “Even if one of us dies, the connection will continue to affect the spirit of the one who lives.”

“I honestly wish I had never kissed you all those years ago.”

“We couldn’t possibly have known what was going to happen.”

Pain is threatening to tear Lewis’ chest apart. He doesn’t even know if it is coming from him or Nico. The last days they spent together were beyond torture. They tried again and again to forget each other and keep a safe distance, but they invariably ended up crossing the line because of the fatal attraction between them. It only ended with Nico leaving in the most resolute fashion imaginable. 

Lewis doesn’t know why he is remembering all of this now. He recalls Nico’s warmth on his fingertips and lips. The damned bond. He tries to feel what Nico is doing far, far away from him. He gets his answer, because his thoughts begin to settle, and he even feels full of love. 

Nico is no doubt spending time with his family. 

He wants to stop looking like a scorned wife, so he closes off his spiritual world once again. The rescued hostages need to pass through Sentinel security to have their identities confirmed before leaving. Lewis decides to help out. He subs in for one of the policemen at the security checkpoint, using his Sentinel senses to capture the terrified heartbeats and reveal details the hostages themselves are oblivious to. Suddenly, he puts up his hand to stop a middle-aged man from leaving. 

The man looks at Lewis in surprise. Lewis pulls down his hood and gives the man a friendly smile. 

“Your hand is bleeding.”

The man looks down and realizes that the sleeve of his jacket is drenched in blood. He was probably grazed by a stray shrapnel or some other sharp object. Lewis quickly waves to the medics. “We need some patching up here!”

“Thanks,” the man has a heavy accent, but Lewis just about manages to make out what he is saying. “I didn’t even feel it.”

“That happens when you’re under a lot of stress, but it would be way too dangerous to leave it like that,” Lewis rolls up the man’s sleeve and examines the wound. “You may need some stitches. Luckily the wound is not too deep. What should I call you?”

“Oh,” the man freezes, “Julià. Call me Julià.”

“Do you work here?”

“Yes…no, just as visiting staff. But it’s work.”

The man is obviously nervous, but Lewis does not detect his lie. Having handed Julià over to the medics, he heads for the next checkpoint to do his job. He spreads out the tendrils of his awareness and scrutinizes everything he captures with them. He’s not about to let a single enemy slip away. 

The road is bustling with policemen, local troops, as well as MSF soldiers. People are shouting, and noises are coming from all types of equipment. These sounds mix with the siren to create the melody of this particular night. Lewis walks very slowly, patiently patrolling his territory like the black panther next to him.

Then he spots a strange man. 

“ _Monsieur_ , please leave your weapons on the ground and put your hands where I can see them.”

Lewis aims his rifle at the man in the Special Forces uniform in front of him. The man slowly undoes the strap and tosses his gun aside. He raises his hands obediently. 

“Please take off your helmet and mask. Do it slowly.”

Under the mask is an unfamiliar face, young and rather Hispanic-looking. Though neither of them makes a move, Lewis is certain that this is a Sentinel. 

His index finger stays on the trigger. The young stranger beams at him, his white teeth showing. 

“Can’t you just let me by?”

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

Lewis maintains his posture, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He moves to press the radio button on his shoulder. Before his finger makes contact, however, the stranger slaps his left hand away at astonishing speed. Lewis fires immediately, but the enemy grabs the barrel of his gun and throws his weapon aside. 

The gunfire sends the crowd into a panic again. Lewis realizes what is catching him off guard: his enemy has bent the barrel of his rifle with a bare hand. 

_I need more power._

Switching his armored exoskeleton to maximum output mode, Lewis’ fist makes contact with the enemy’s chest. This should have been enough to shatter a wall of concrete, but his opponent just stumbles back slightly, not even showing any signs of pain. He quickly pulls out his pistol and starts shooting. The enemy shields his face with his arm as he charges at Lewis and tries to take the weapon away from him. 

The bullets bounce right off the enemy’s arm. Lewis realizes that he is either wearing a supremely snug and resilient layer of armor, or has metal prosthetic limbs throughout his body. The way his opponent falls on the ground and the impact he feels when they make contact are telling him that it is most likely the latter. 

“I don’t want to fight you, Lewis,” the stranger is still smiling as Lewis starts panting. “You’ll get hurt.”

“Fuck off.”

Lewis fires again. The enemy jams the barrel with his bare palm, and the bullet explodes inside the chamber. Taking advantage of their closeness, Lewis unsheathes his dagger and drives it at the enemy’s throat with all the power he has in him. The enemy grabs his wrist and squeezes firmly against his armor like a car jack. 

He still doesn’t give up. The stranger has a resigned look on his face.

“You’re making me do this.”

Lewis hears the sound of metal breaking as the armor around his wrist is crushed. A few sparks fly as the electric wires short-circuit, and the power to his left hand is cut off completely. The dagger slips from his hand into the stranger’s palm. An icy, intense pain pierces Lewis’ thigh. 

“Aaarrrgh!”

He wants to keep fighting, but blood is dripping from the blade planted deep into his muscles. Lewis’ left hand dangles lifelessly at his side, and he’s only still on his feet thanks to the support of his armor. The stranger takes one look at him and turns around, disappearing into the commotion of the crowd. 

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ He fights to press the radio button. He has to report this to Bono. The black panther is still hot on the stranger’s heels. Even if Lewis is drenched in cold sweat from the pain, he isn't about to let himself lose track of the enemy. 

The radio finally connects. He says, “I’m at Fifth Street—“

“Lewis!” Bono shouts at him. Lewis has rarely heard him so distressed. “Shots fired at the North Gate. They need backup!”

That’s the area the reserve members are responsible for. Lewis hesitates only for a moment before injecting himself in the leg with a painkiller shot.

“I’m on my way. Keep me updated. I’m injured. The enemy was a Sentinel, Hispanic male, about twenty-five years old. He was heading west.” Lewis summons back his spirit animal, and the black panther now sprints toward the active combat area at top speed. “The enemy has heavily fortified individual body armor. I highly recommend using anesthetic spray to incapacitate him first. Be very careful, and I mean very careful!”

“Copy, Lewis. How is the injury?”

“Not good,” Lewis feels the drug starting to take effect around the wounded areas, dulling the pain into something mildly foreign. He forces his body to keep up with the speed of the armor, knowing that it’s going to worsen his injury. “How are things at the North Gate?”

“The police are having a difficult time. Three reserve Sentinels are trapped there, two of them injured…”

“I can already see them.”

Through the black panther’s eyes, Lewis confirms the condition the three new recruits are in. He is starting to loathe his mortal body. Had he not been injured, he would have already made it there in time for a counterattack. 

_Hang in there, boys._ Lewis pounds his fist on the uninjured leg. _Faster, Lewis, faster!_

Then he sees a bomb with a peculiar structure fall onto the ground. It’s an extremely rare and expensive type of weapon, and he doesn’t even have time to put in his ear plugs before its clock ticks to zero. 

Lewis can only put his hands over his ears to spare his Sentinel senses the major part of the damage from the explosion of the noise bomb. His vision blurs, and his ears are filled with a ringing sound, monotonic and sharp. His headache rages. He loses track of how long it takes his basic senses to start functioning again. He smells and tastes blood in his nose and mouth. He spits out some red liquid and realizes that he is bleeding from his nostrils. 

And he was at least two hundred meters away from the center of the blast. Lewis struggles to his feet, fighting to suppress his urge to throw up. He runs to join the backup crew. 

“…Bono!”

“My God, Lewis! You’re okay!”

“The enemy used a noise bomb!” Lewis yells, “get me the nearest Guide! I have to save them! Make sure someone is there to ground their consciousness as soon as possible! I can’t do that myself!”

“The chances are slim…”

Bono’s voice drops. Lewis is almost roaring now. 

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“Team RB’s Guide is on his way. Team SF’s Guide has also been notified,” says Bono. “One of the new recruits was farther from the center of the blast, but the other two…”

Lewis has already made his way to the wounded recruits. He immediately kneels down next to the boy who is more severely injured, looking at the name on his tag. 

“Anthoine? Anthoine? Stay with me,” Lewis grasps the boy’s hand and begins inspecting his injuries. “I’m Lewis. You’re safe now—“

The breathing is weak. Lewis manages to capture what remains of the boy’s consciousness, but he has no idea how to channel his own strength into the boy. _Please hang in there, hang in there just for a bit longer. As long as you stay awake, the MSF will be able to save you with the technology it has. Don’t leave us, please, don’t leave us…_

Lewis feels the slightest squeeze on his hand. He realizes that the boy is responding. Overjoyed, he puts his ear to the boy’s nose, trying to listen for his breathing. But all he hears is the last beat of the heart as it trembles to a stop. With that, the last thread of hope he’s been clinging onto disappears into the vastness of the night. 


	30. Promise

“Hey, Pierre,” Max stands at his teammate’s door, “mind if I come in?”

“It’s not locked.”

He walks slowly into the white room. Pierre sits at the corner of the sofa, like a sole black spot on a blank canvas. Max has his spirit animal lie down next to him before finding himself a chair. 

He doesn’t know what he should say. Pierre seems calm, though his eyes are still red and puffy. Are all Guides born with such incredible mental resilience? Or are they just so used to having to deal with negative emotions day in and day out that they recover quickly even after a major trauma like this? 

“I know it wasn’t my fault. Not even Lewis or Sebastian was able to do more. Everything the counselor said made sense. I know it made sense,” Pierre looks up and smiles at him. “but I just can’t. How can I go on as if all this had nothing to do with me?”

“Screw counselors,” says Max, “all they do is move their lips for money.”

“Thanks, Max.”

Max is momentarily speechless. After an awkward silence, he says, “sorry, Pierre. I…”

“Dr. Marko called me,” Pierre shakes his head. “You’re really a terrible teammate in every way. But what can I do? I’m just doing as I was told.”

“Is that really what you think?” asks Max.

“I was just trying to provoke you,” Pierre blinks at him before sinking back into the sofa and hanging his head. “Sorry. I’m not really myself.”

“I heard that Charles came to see you, so I thought I’d…”

“Charles told you to come, right? He’s like that sometimes, always wanting people around him to get along with each other. I once fell out with someone and Charles tried to play mediator. It went absolutely nowhere and he just ended up wearing himself out.” Pierre furrows his brows, looking for a way to word his thoughts. “He’s very…very keen to protect what he thinks is important, but I feel like the one who needs protecting the most is actually him. You realize how the kind of loss he experienced would have been enough to spiritually destroy a Sentinel, not to mention the nine months of hell he had to go through during Jules’ coma…God, I’m acting like a father at his daughter’s wedding.”

Pierre smiles mirthlessly. Max accepts a glass of water from Pierre, takes a drink, and fixes Pierre with an earnest gaze. 

“I don’t think Charles needs protecting.”

“This is the biggest difference between you and me. It’s perhaps the reason that you became his boyfriend and I’m his best friend.”

“He needs me, and he also needs you,” says Max.

“True,” Pierre looks at the water in the glass. “As his friend, I’m very glad that he met you.”

“I want to help.”

Max looks at Pierre, sincere. Pierre stands up, lifting a corner of the curtain to gaze at the flag flying at half mast on the drill ground. 

“Dr. Marko said that given the severity of the trauma I experienced, I should go back to the junior team and regroup for the time being. I know he’s saying that I’m not up to the task. I also know very well what my biggest weakness is and what separates me from you, Max Verstappen.”

Pierre turns his head. Max can’t make out the expression on the Frenchman’s backlit face. 

“I can’t pull the trigger. The thought of killing someone makes me sick.”

“That’s what a normal person would feel.”

“We’re not normal people.”

“If you say so.”

Pierre exhales. He sets down his glass and pulls out a gun from the cabinet drawer next to the window. He removes its clip, leaving only one bullet in the chamber. He raises it and aims it at Max, pulling off the safety. 

“If that person, the wanted man codenamed ’93’, was standing right in front of me, I would shoot without any hesitation. I would shoot even if I had zero chance against him.”

“But if you were to shoot now, you’d only be killing a completely unarmed Max.”

Pierre sighs and puts the gun down. 

“Yes.”

“The value of what you do is not just in how many you kill,” says Max.

“You’re right,” Pierre lowers his eyes to look at the weapon in his hand, “but RB has no use for a Sentinel who cannot kill.”

“Let’s make a deal, Pierre, from man to man,” Max extends his right hand out to Pierre. “I will destroy whoever is responsible for Anthoine’s death. As for you, you will live on, as Charles’ friend, and as a Sentinel who does not kill. You will live on with your head held high.”

“Do I look like a suicide watch?”

“From the way you behaved, yes.”

Pierre stops smiling and takes Max’s hand. 

“I promise you, then.”

“Here, try to put your hand on my shoulder.”

Bono half-kneels in front of Lewis and adjusts his braces. Number 93 aimed the dagger with lethal precision, damaging Lewis’ femur while also narrowly avoiding the major artery that would have killed him. By forcing his body to keep up, Lewis worsened the tears in his muscles so badly that even the doctor threw a fit when the X-ray images came out. Apart from his leg injury, Lewis also has to wear a wrist splint. He still can’t walk without crutches. 

Refusing Bono’s help, Lewis plants his hands on the armrests, not wanting to look weak. Keeping his hands in a position to catch Lewis, Bono watches Lewis as he slowly pushes himself up. Lewis tries to take a step forward with his injured right leg. He promptly loses his balance and falls straight towards the floor. 

“…Christ,” Lewis finds his balance again with Bono’s help, “how long is it going to take for me to get rid of this?”

“It depends on how cooperative you plan on being,” says Bono, resigned. “If you’re going to actually listen to the doctor and rest instead of insisting on running around, you’ll be in much lighter splints in a month.”

“I have to go see Correa. He was the other person close to the center of the blast that night. I need to find out what really happened there and who orchestrated the attack.” Lewis leans against the table, “I’m not being unreasonable.”

“I know you’re very strong, and you work very hard. But even the best steel cracks from fatigue.”

“I’m placing my biggest trust in you, Bono,” Lewis looks at his engineer. “Don’t disappoint me, okay?”

He’s not lying. On the battlefield, his life depends on Bono’s tuning of the equipment and the information he provides. If he didn’t trust his team, he would never have been able to put himself in the most brutal combat areas so many times and still manage to return safely. Bono pushes his glasses up and avoids Lewis’ eyes. 

“…But I’m going to have to answer to Toto and the entire Team M. You’re by far our most valuable asset.” 

Lewis finds it ironic, but he just smiles. Maybe it happened when Nico left. Maybe it happened when Nico chose to marry Vivian and end his relationship with Lewis. No — maybe it happened even earlier, back when he first realized that he had nothing other than his power, that to the MSF, all Sentinels were but tools with which to generate ever more fame and wealth —

He let go of all of his illusions. He knew that he had no choice but to do whatever it takes, to be bruised black and blue, until he ascended to a height where his hands dripped with blood and his heart became unfeeling stone. He’d have to shed all the tenderness and hesitation that made him human to keep the only reward he was ever going to get. The medal. The title. The golden crown that used to keep his younger self awake at night with giddiness. Now the thought of it only makes him collapse into the sofa, tired and thoroughly fed up. 

He’s the MSF’s Chief Sentinel. He knows the responsibility it places on his shoulders. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him to do anything. He knows what he has to do. 

Lewis ends up making the cargo flight departing the training center. He had to walk with great effort, shutting off his Sentinel senses to block out the renewed pain. He only discovers that someone else has taken up a seat when he arrives at the cabin. 

Daniel is surprised, but he still reaches his hand out to pull Lewis up. 

“You’re in no shape to travel long-distance,” Daniel looks at the braces on his leg. “You know where this plane is going, right?”

“London.”

Lewis gasps slightly from the pain. Daniel has half a mind to offer some assistance, but thinks the better of it. 

“I have a feeling that whoever is in charge of you would not have approved this.”

Lewis smiles. “It’s taken care of.”

 _I hope Bono doesn’t have too bad of a headache when he wakes up_ , thinks Lewis. He pulled his punch, but for a technician who spends most of his time indoors dealing with data and machinery, one slap from Lewis can definitely lead to more serious consequences than a temporary loss of consciousness. Daniel has probably guessed that Lewis didn’t exactly obtain permission according to protocol, and decided to pretend to not have mentioned it at all. 

“Any chance we’re headed to the same place?”

“I’m going to visit Correa,” Lewis answers succinctly, “I heard that he’s off the ventilator and ready for his surgery.”

“I hope he recovers,” says Daniel.

“Why do you care so much about Correa? Or rather, this entire thing?”

“You seem to care a lot, too.”

“Because I’m the Chief Sentinel and I was right there next to Anthoine and Correa,” Lewis has his spirit animal sit down in front of Daniel. The black panther licks its paws, its gaze fixed on Daniel.

“Are you trying to intimidate me, Lewis?” says Daniel. The plane is experiencing turbulence as they sit next to each other. 

“I won’t have to if you’re going to be honest with me,” Lewis pops the bottle open and swallows a motion sickness pill. His spiritual barrier is still fragile. 

“You need a Guide. I can help you repair your barrier.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You have to start with trusting some people.”

“What are you and Nico planning?” Lewis stops beating around the bush.

Daniel freezes. “Do the Renault upgrades count?”

“Not that Nico.”

“That would be between the two of you, then,” says Daniel. “No one in the world knows Nico Rosberg better than you.”

“You really know how to hit people where it hurts, but it won’t work on me.” Lewis’ forehead is sweating. The air pressure changes didn't use to bother him at all, but they now threaten to kill his eardrums and destroy his hearing for good. “He’s like a hyena sniffing around everywhere he goes. He pounces at the slightest whiff of a dead body. You better hope that he doesn’t try to milk Anthoine’s death.”

“I don’t think he’s the kind of person you’re saying he is.”

“I don’t trust him.”

Daniel sighs. “Like I just said, you have to start with trusting some people.”

“Even when they’re hiding facts and truths?”

“He wanted to save certain people, as did I. That’s why we had an agreement. Lewis, I now understand the way Nico feels about you, so I’ve decided to keep his secret for him.” Daniel has the honey badger climb into Lewis’ lap to let Lewis feel his friendliness, “I won’t comment on what you did to him.”

“You’re threatening me.”

“No, I was just stating a fact. People are complicated creatures…you want everything to be pure and perfect, but relationships like that don’t exist in this world. He loved you. He still does.”

“You’re trying to change the topic.”

“I am,” Daniel smiles in response. “Regardless, I have nothing to tell you.”

“If I ever find out that you’ve endangered any members of the MSF, I won’t send you to court-martial,” Lewis slaps away the honey badger. “You’ll learn the difference in power between you and the Chief Sentinel. You’ll see your spiritual barrier crumble away inch by inch, your entire consciousness destroyed, your memories, feelings, and all your emotions trampled upon. You’ll turn into a drooling, giggling fool and live out the rest of your days in an asylum.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”

Correa is not out of the woods yet, so the hospital is only allowing one visitor at a time. Lewis takes this as his opportunity to question Correa one-on-one. Daniel enters the ward first while Lewis is dragged away by a nosy doctor to have his wounds re-examined. He also receives an assortment of pills for relieving neurological symptoms. Daniel gives Lewis a complicated look when he sees the orange pill bottle in Lewis’ hand. He eventually says, “Correa is not in particularly good shape. Try to go easy on him.”

“I know where to draw the line.”

Lewis walks into the ward and sees the boy connected to a machine through a multitude of tubes. A bunch of bubbles surface in the humidifier bottle next to an oxygen cylinder. He sits down next to the bed and takes Correa’s left hand in his. 

“Hey.”

Correa’s spiritual barrier is completely shattered. He’s barely conscious under the heavy dose of tranquilizers, but he’s still capable of responding to Lewis’ voice. Correa’s head rolls to one side as his eyes struggle to open. 

“Lewis?”

“Yes,” Lewis smiles, “I’m glad that you won this battle.”

“…Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Lewis suddenly can’t keep his voice from breaking at the end of his sentence. He closes his eyes, but not before a tear rolls down his face. Correa slowly bends his swollen fingers and squeezes Lewis’ hand in return. 

“Thank you for coming to us.”

He fights to stop himself from making a sound, letting his tears run in silence. He’s infinitely grateful that Correa is going to keep breathing and his heart is going to keep beating. He’s also grateful that this boy, who just turned eighteen recently, tried to embrace him back with a broken consciousness. _Thank you for not dying in front of me_. But he can’t bring himself to say that. He realizes that he, sadly, is still frail and mortal. He can’t save anyone, and he can’t become actually unbreakable in either body or spirit. He’s never managed to hold onto what truly mattered to him. Never. 

“…I’m not going to give up on anyone,” Lewis looks up, “as long as they’re still my brothers in arms.”

Correa smiles and says, “I think you need some rest.”

“I don’t like to rest. There are still a whole group of terrorists out there. I can’t lie in bed and listen to yoga music all day,” calmness and reason are returning to Lewis’ head. “Do you think you can talk to me in your current state? About what you saw that day?”

“I think so, sir, if it’s helpful to you.”

“If you start feeling uncomfortable, we’ll stop immediately, and I’ll get the doctor.”

“I’m ready.”

Lewis is proud of the boy. Keeping a close tab on Correa’s physiological readouts and spiritual fluctuations, he begins his questioning.

“What did Daniel talk to you about?”

“He asked about my treatment options, and some usual small talk. Nothing else in particular. He’s very good at calming people down.”

“Did you find him suspicious in any way?”

“No. I only felt that he was really sorry for me. Are you suspecting him?”

Lewis narrows his eyes.

“I was just asking that as a baseline question. Can you describe what happened when your team was ambushed?”

“The three of us were patrolling the perimeter. The evacuees who were leaving had already been inspected at the checkpoints, so we were not expecting anything to happen, although we of course still did our jobs. I saw someone with a gas mask on, so I stopped that person and started doing some routine questioning. Anthoine was a bit farther away from me. He reacted very strangely, running towards us as if he knew the person. I didn’t see a problem with leaving him to it, so I took a step back. He asked that person something in French. I didn’t know what he was saying, and that person didn’t reply, either. That was when we were ambushed.”

“You’re doing great. Please continue.”

Correa takes a moment to calm down.

“I fired immediately. Anthoine called for backup. I heard him talking, and then there was enemy fire sweeping our area, and that mysterious person was gone. Both Anthoine and I got injured, and Alesi was outgunned. Then the noise bomb exploded. I can’t recall anything that happened afterwards.”

Lewis thinks to himself for a moment, giving Correa some time to catch a break.

“Was Anthoine badly injured before the explosion?”

“He dragged me into the bunker. I was shot in the back,” Correa suddenly grabs his hand. “Did he die in pain?”

“…He died peacefully.”

Correa closes his eyes and exhales in relief. Lewis has seen the autopsy report. Anthoine’s gravest injury was the subarachnoid hemorrhage triggered by a fractured skull. He was wearing ear plugs and would have been spared most of the bomb’s impact. Now it’s clear to Lewis that the boy kept fighting even after his teammates had passed out, until the enemy’s hands were on his throat and his head was repeatedly bashed against the ground, leaving him to feel his consciousness fading as despair and dread overwhelmed him…

“Was the SSG behind the attack?”

Correa asks. Lewis nods.

“I’m going to make them pay.”


	31. In the Shadow

The last time he climbed this hill was fifteen years ago. The sea breeze is still crisp, and rolling whitecaps beat against the rocky cliff. He finds some shade to sit in, mobilizing all of his senses to take in everything around him. The warmth of the sun, the touch of the grass, the forms of life moving in the sky and under the ground. The wind, the waves, and, living in another corner of the world, his other half. 

“Alex,” he smiles, “you’re watching the sea, too.”

In this moment, he is no experimental subject Number 93. He is but an ordinary person who’s having a lot of feelings about returning to his hometown. Marc sits in silence for a long while. His companion stands wordlessly beside him, their entire face concealed under a hood. Marc rises to his feet and pats away bits of grass from his clothes.

“Let’s go, _amigo_ ,” he flicks his head at his companion, “to see my home.”

The town has changed a lot, but also not much. As Marc walks by the department store, he suddenly decides to go in and buy a bag of cookies. He opens the package and takes a bite, but eventually he smiles, resigned. 

“I have no idea why Alex liked these so much. I can figure out their composition and texture, but to me they don’t taste like anything. They’re basically the same as dried lime putty. The difference used to be that the latter would send me to the hospital, but even that has disappeared.”

His companion doesn’t respond. They simply keep following him within half a meter like a dutiful bodyguard. 

“I’m forgetting that you don’t know what it feels like, either.” Marc places the remaining cookies in front of a homeless man before walking on. “I don’t even know if it’s a good or bad thing to lose the ability to feel. I never had it to begin with, see. And it’s not like you can answer me.”

“No one is going to recognize me now,” Marc looks up at the sun in the sky.

The town is tiny. They reach their destination in less than half an hour. Marc stops at the sidewalk after the crossing and looks at the houses on the other end of the street.

“I used to live there. Every summer was long. The buzz of the insects, smoke, fire, fights, melting asphalt, the whispers of the plants. Alex slept in the nursery. I could hear his breathing and heartbeat even with three walls between us. Sometimes, I got up in the middle of the night, walked to his door and tried to call out to him the way Sentinels do. The door separated me and him like our mother’s belly used to.

“Then the summers became short. He had to go to school, whereas I had no idea how not to hurt myself amongst other kids. I never understood that animals developed the sense of pain to protect themselves. I didn’t have it, and I only realized that I was injured or sick when Alex was feeling my pain.

“My spirit became bonded to Alex’s when he was still in our mother’s womb. It felt like he was my twin born three years late. In that moment, I finally found my missing piece.”

Two children run past them in the front, their mother locking the car behind them and shouting to them to wait. The boy crashes right into Marc, shocking his sister. Marc smiles at the girl and bends over to check the boy for any injuries. 

“Are you alright, kid?”

The boy is obviously feeling the pain of the impact, tears welling in his eyes. Marc puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder and immediately realizes that this is an incredibly soft, fawn-like creature. He could crush even the toughest bone in the boy’s body without the slightest effort. For a split second, bits and pieces of memory flash in his mind. He quickly removes his hand to let the boy’s mother take him away.

“I’m sorry, mister,” the lady hugs the shoulders of both her children. She looks like she just got off work. “My son is a handful. I hope he didn’t bother you.”

“It’s okay,” Marc smiles back at her, “he’s a very healthy kid.”

“Thank you. I hope you have a nice day.”

“Goodbye,” Marc waves at them before suddenly remembering something. “Ma’am! Could you wait a second?”

The lady stops and watches as he runs to catch up. Marc points at the house in front of them.

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask when you moved in?”

She furrows her brows slightly. “Why do you ask?”

Marc blinks. “I remember that a doctor used to live here when I was a kid. He did a prosthetic surgery on my father. My father wanted to thank him before passing away, but his pancreatic cancer didn’t allow him the time.”

“You must be talking about Dr. Marquez,” the lady lets down her guard. “I bought this house from his wife. I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

“He’s surely in a better place now,” Marc knows that this is true. His plan worked as he intended it to in all the most important ways. “When did you move here?”

“It’s been more than a decade now. I moved here after I got divorced. Now I have a happy family. It’s a beautiful place.”

“Would you happen to know where the Marquez family moved to?”

The lady shakes her head, “I only ever talked to Mrs. Marquez. She seemed very sad. She just wanted to leave as soon as she could with her child, like I also did back then. My guess is that she had already divorced her husband, because I never did see Dr. Marquez. I heard from the neighbors that they fell out because of their older son’s traffic accident. Bad things often happen to good people.”

“That must have been a tough time. I’m glad that you put it behind you,” Marc smiles, full of friendliness. “Would you happen to have heard from Mrs. Marquez afterwards? Do you know how to get in touch with her?”

“Oh, she never talked about where she was going,” says the lady, “and the number she left me was for the real estate agent.”

“I’m really sorry,” says Marc, “thanks for sharing all this with me.”

Marc returns to his companion after saying goodbye. He can tell that the lady wasn’t lying to him. She may have been careful to not disclose too much in front of a stranger, but she didn’t really see any reason to lie about the former owner of the house. He’s glad that his mother didn’t leave much behind that could be traced back to her. It increases the chances that she and Alex will remain undisturbed in the future. 

“You know, _amigo_ , I really don’t have too much that I care about. Other than my family, that is,” Marc smiles at his companion. “You see that road shoulder? That’s where the truck ran over me.”

His companion turns their head, not showing any emotion. 

“I was very badly injured. In a physical sense, I should have died long before the ambulance arrived. But my spirit was tangled with Alex’s in a state of uncertainty…we hovered between life and death, both he and I. He on the side of the living, and I on the side of the dead.”

Marc glances at his palm, a layer of artificial skin covering the tough, intricate prosthetic hand underneath. It looks so real that he finds it ridiculous.

“The doctor could only keep my basic blood and oxygen levels up with a cardiopulmonary bypass so that my brain functions would not cease completely. My parents didn’t have much time to decide. They knew very well that if I was allowed to die, Alex’s soul would depart with me. But if they wanted me to live despite losing my body, they’d have to turn to people with powers the doctors didn’t have, people from the very world they’d been trying to keep their children out of.”

Marc is still smiling.

“My father sold both me and himself to this military experiment project.”

With that, he falls silent for a moment. He takes a deep breath, even though it has no effect on his bodily functions. Walking with his companion, Marc leaves the familiar road crossing behind. The two children they just ran into are now playing in the yard, filling it with laughter.

“I don’t regret it. I’m even glad that it happened. The only one who actually got injured was me. I really hope that my father doesn’t blame himself for it, because there is no need. Without that traffic accident, Alex would still have been in pain because of other things that happened to me. My father couldn’t possibly have protected me from everything. That’s why I was very happy to finally be in this body, a body that doesn’t hurt. Alex would never have to feel all of my pain for me ever again. You win some, you lose some. Time has proved that my father chose correctly.

“I saw another boy at the lab. He was younger than Alex, but already extremely powerful. Probably the most gifted Sentinel I have ever met. His only weakness was that he was limited by his mortal body and its senses. That’s why he's not able to beat me, even today. No Sentinel is able to beat me. Many organizations salivated over him, but few of them wanted to deal with his father and the powers behind him. It was not worth it. There were many other experimental subjects. They could go find any number of families like mine, families with no choice but to listen to them. They could take away the children, break their bones, insert all sorts of machinery into their bodies, and inject any kind of drug into their veins until their brains were messed up beyond repair. Unfortunately, they were never able to produce another Number 93.

“He was lucky, the boy who left the lab intact,” Marc sits down on the bench next to the green lawn. “His father sent him in there, but once he realized what was likely to happen to his son, he drew the line at that. My father didn’t have a choice. I’ve always found it silly. He could have just handed me over to the SSG and left the place, pretending that his older son had died in the traffic accident. But both he and Mom were too gentle at heart. They couldn’t even deceive themselves, let alone Alex.

“In a world of pure spirit, you feel like everything recedes from you. All things start to make sense, but they no longer need to. The order becomes existence itself. You feel all the deaths and rebirths, all the emotions, all the voids. Then you sense this overwhelming grief, not of any particular individual, but the grief shared by all breathing, existing, thinking and moving human beings. It’s like…I don’t know what words to use to describe it. The truth doesn’t always bring meaning with it,” Marc beams at his companion, “perhaps you understand it better than I. We’ve both crossed that line. We’ll both spend the rest of our lives longing for a return to the order, but many things are holding us back. Keeping us, rather.”

Fire truck sirens begin to fill the surrounding streets. Everyone around the green lawn is being told to evacuate over loudspeakers at top volume, citing a suspected gas leak. Marc rolls up his sleeve. An extremely thin but deep knife cut can be seen on the inside of his arm, its edges ragged. He carved it out when he extracted his microchip during his escape. 

“They just won’t give me a break.”

A small team of unknown combatant personnel jump out of the trucks. They quickly assume their positions, surrounding Marc and his companion. These people do not talk. They don’t have guns on them, and their exoskeletons aren’t the standard variety used by the regular army. Marc knows full well that these are all Sentinels. They are being kept for the sole purpose of hunting their own kind. They are here in this town today to tear Marc, or experimental subject Number 93, from limb to limb. 

_You’ve shown that you don’t deserve to live, Number 93._

He registers the message from the enemy in the air. His companion remains silent as a statue next to him. 

The escape plan was carried out without a hitch. Marc had his father evacuate with the other hostages while he released his companion. The SSG should be regretting now that they put too much trust in their weapons. Marc had always been nothing but obedient, which earned him some measure of freedom during missions. He threw a cigarette butt at the powder keg, and the whole city exploded in fire. 

The enemies are upon them. Marc unfurls his consciousness, the ants swarming forth from beneath his feet. 

_I am waiting for certain people_ , he thinks, _but not you._

He sees the shine of a blade, and the retracting pupil of a prosthetic eye behind the enemy’s goggles. He can’t risk absorbing the blow with his own prosthetic arm; no one is going to tune it and repair it for him now. 

Contact. He tries to rip the weapon out of his opponent’s hand by concentrating his attacks on the finger joints, which are the weakest points in the exoskeleton. He retains his slight advantage in reaction speed, thanks to direct neural connections to his body instead of having to deal with the signal delays of the exoskeleton. His focus on the weak points pays off. He breaks off his opponent’s finger, but the enemy does not relent. He can only hang onto the blade he wrestled from the enemy, putting some distance between them. 

The sense of pain has been erased from these Sentinels, whether through drugs or something else. They’ll pull the trigger as long as they have one finger left that they can still move. 

Marc turns around to look at his companion. This silent figure has stayed on its spot, waiting for a certain program to be activated. Marc cannot control his companion. Sometimes he even feels like he’s actually been under his companion’s control for the past several months. 

But that’s not important. What’s important now is for him to live. For that, he can’t afford to let his companion be taken away from him. Never. 

He keeps fighting and retreating, staying close to his companion all the while. He can’t break through, but he doesn’t cede ground, either. For Marc, it doesn’t feel particularly good to kill, but also not bad enough that he’d refuse to do it. He’s been killing for the SSG for years. He’s seen many people in their last moments. The cries, pleas, fury, whipping up a sea of blood and swallowing him whole. 

_I don’t have a choice_. He sat in front of the sleep pod that day and explained to his companion. _I have to kill these people. My Dad’s life is in their hands._

His companion remained deep asleep. He put his hand on the glass, trying to invade their consciousness. He knows that it would trigger their defense mechanism and put his spiritual world under attack, but it was the only way for him to connect with them, and one of the few private conversations he was ever going to have in that lab. 

Two hours later, he woke up in a sleep pod. Having acted without orders, he had to accept the penalty of not being able to see his father for a month. But he realized what he had to do. 

He could no longer shoot without thinking like he used to. 

Marc doesn’t get tired. He can fight through the day and the night, but they can’t afford to waste too much time here. 

He deduces that this is a small ambush force, with the emphasis on quality over quantity. The SSG was betting on him coming back here to check on his family’s former home. If he’s kept in this place for too long, he’ll have to worry about more than the SSG’s reinforcements; government troops or even the MSF could show up as well. Marc is still fighting with astonishing focus and precision. He avoids killing his opponent as much as he can, choosing instead to destroy their armor. A hunter clings to Marc’s leg with his arms just as Marc is about to pull his control board out from behind him. Another hunter lunges at him, then a third. They raise daggers capable of penetrating his body. 

“ _Amigo_!” Marc yells as he struggles, “help me!”

He doesn’t expect it to do anything, because he’s already managed to free himself and kick the armed hunters to the ground. The arms clinging to his leg suddenly slacken, then the hunters in front of him begin bleeding from their noses and collapsing to the ground. 

Marc knows that his companion has made their move, just like they did several months ago in his battle with the MSF Sentinels. He doesn’t know why his companion is choosing to act now. Perhaps they sensed that Marc was in real danger. 

He picks up the dagger and puts it against the neck of an unconscious Sentinel. He walks slowly towards the ambush force surrounding him, closely followed by his companion. 

“You know you can’t stop me like this,” Marc shouts to the fire trucks and police cars. Silence persists for a while before a hand emerges from the window of a police car. It throws a communication device at him. 

“I can convince the Committee to let you live if you agree to surrender and bring the one next to you back to us.”

“We both know that this is a lie,” Marc chuckles.

“Are you unhappy about this arrangement?”

“No, sir. I appreciate you trying to spare my life, but personally I’m no longer motivated to keep taking part in this game. We now have two choices. Number one, you’ll let me and my friend leave this place looking good. Number two, I’ll kill each and every one of you, then leave this place not looking so good. What would you like to do?”

The voice on the other end falls silent for a second.

“How long do you think your family can keep hiding from us?”

“Very long. Long enough that I can stand my ground here against you. Long enough that I can rip out your windpipe and stuff your eyeballs deep into your lungs.” Marc tries to look as tough as possible, though he doesn’t know how much help his companion will be able to give him. “I know how to activate Number 17 without the initialization sequence. You can no longer control either one of us.”

“Even your prosthetic body won’t survive a missile.”

“But I’m not worth the trouble,” Marc calls their bluff.

“What do you want?”

“What you cannot give,” Marc smiles. “For decades, you’ve covered up your shady dealings using your International Sentinel Coalition Committee as a glorified front. What you call Plan Cradle is in fact a bunch of profit-hungry arms dealers trying to produce an even more efficient killing machine to keep up with the times. To both test your new weapon and maximize your sales, you created a myth, a narrative of justice battling against evil. The Militaires Sans Frontieres and the Sentinel Self-Defense Force, the SSG and the MSF, seeing each other as enemies and slaughtering each other. These poor soldiers have been living a lie. All we ever truly fought for was someone else’s greed.”

“So?”

“So I’m going to stop you,” Marc pulls the communication device away from his ear, “I’m going to make you pay.”

He has killed many. Marc straightens himself up, his face and body soaked in the red of blood. He knows that he can’t afford to be kept here any longer, but it’s the first time that the act of killing has truly disgusted him. 

_I’m fighting for a more just cause_ , he thinks, _yet I’ve become weaker and more hesitant._ It was easy to believe in a simple fact, like how he had to do the terrorists’ bidding to keep his father alive. Now he’s pushed onto a track without signs, not knowing which way is forward. He still has all the same skills, but he doesn’t know when to use them, or whether to use them at all.

His companion stands next to him, utterly silent. Marc picks up the communication device again and discovers that it is still connected. 

“Hello, sir. Can you hear me?”

“We have more forces at our disposal than this. You can run now, but you can’t keep running forever.”

“Are you going to have the MSF hunt me down?” Marc laughs. “I hope their Chief Sentinel’s leg has healed. They already proved last time that they can’t beat me or Number 17.”

“There will be more.”

“I look forward to it,” Marc switches the device to his other ear as the blood starts to dry. “Speaking of which, did he or she ever have a real name?”

A moment of silence. 

“Yes.”

“I knew it. Anyway, I have to go. I’m hanging up now. I hope you don’t miss me too much. Bye.”

Marc crushes the receiver under his foot and walks down the road bathed in the richest sunshine. 


	32. Bonding

Charles gasps heavily underneath him, toes curling from pleasure. Max locks his fingers into Charles’, planting kisses around his boyfriend’s mouth and jaw. Charles takes care to keep his voice down for the dozens of Sentinels on the island born with superhuman hearing. Their relationship is no longer a secret among the Sentinels, though. Max tastes a hint of salt. He can’t help but start grazing Charles’ neck lightly with his teeth. He knows that Charles’ arteries lie hidden in the muscles mere centimeters under. The lion’s sharp canines can easily pierce the wafer-thin skin, letting warm blood gush over the ceiling. 

Charles’ thighs squeeze against Max’s waist as he places his arms around Max’s neck, pulling him back into the act of lovemaking with a deep, sensual kiss. He’s so preoccupied with responding to Charles’ eagerness that he doesn’t react quickly enough to stop Charles from leaving several scratch marks on his back. It’s going to be hard to explain those away in the public showers. Max is a bit annoyed, so he bites Charles hard several times, drawing a sharp inhale as the nails dig even deeper into his back. 

“…Ouch!”

Max exclaims angrily, but he soon realizes that something is not quite right with Charles. He frees himself from Charles’ arms, and Charles simply stares back at him with large, unfocused eyes. He seems to be looking at something behind Max. Max immediately tries to locate Charles’ consciousness with his Sentinel senses. He then discovers something horrifying. 

Charles is not here. He doesn’t register any spiritual signal coming from Charles. 

Just as Max is about to alert the nearest Guide — who is also his teammate and Charles’ best friend — to come to the rescue, Charles abruptly inhales and wakes up again.

“Jesus,” Max is no longer in the mood. He’s going limp in more ways than one. “Charles? Are you alright?”

Charles grabs his wrist and breathes with difficulty. His voice is broken when he finally manages to squeeze it out of his throat. 

“…I’m fine.”

Max exhales in relief. “I was almost going to get Pierre. Do you know what just happened?”

“What?”

“Your consciousness was lost,” Max kisses Charles’ lips. “It would be really kind of fucking scary if I’m going to risk making you pass out every time we have sex.”

“…I thought I was hallucinating.”

“What did you see?”

Charles looks hesitant. Max feels increasingly anxious. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s just…I need to straighten it out myself,” with that, tears start to stream down Charles’ cheeks. Max is baffled, and even Charles himself looks like he doesn’t believe how sensitive he is being. Regardless, Max pulls his boyfriend into his arms, kissing the corners of Charles’ moistened eyes. 

“I can’t control it. It’s like yawning.”

“It’s just salty water.”

He feels Charles relaxing in his arms as he himself begins to view the events that just took place with a calmer perspective. They continue to cuddle for a while before slipping under the blanket together. 

“I saw a lot of blood, and some fragments of memory. I felt overwhelming fear and pain. Then it was empty, completely silent, a dead wasteland devoid of anything.” Charles slowly curls up his body, “it was like…like what I frequently saw during Jules’ coma.”

“What do you think it was?”

“A flashback. That’s the academic term for it. The consciousness rewinds to a time when a traumatic event took place, and relives everything you experienced.”

“Is there any way to avoid it? …Or at least make it feel less horrible?”

Charles falls silent for a second.

“No.”

“You know what? Even though I know how tough you are, whenever something like this happens I still wish I could just drag you out of those painful memories by your two feet.” Max sniffs hard, filling his lungs with the scent of Charles’ shampoo. “I don’t want to break you.”

“I’m not a china doll.”

“I want to protect you.”

“…Thanks.”

He can sense that Charles is even sadder than before. All he can do is to rub his head against Charles’, gluing their bodies even closer together. 

“Actually, it’s been happening more often recently,” says Charles. “Flashbacks became rare for me after I turned eighteen. It was only after Anthoine’s death that I…”

“It’ll pass.”

“But we’ll never forget.”

“Of course we won’t.”

He slowly kisses a patch of skin behind Charles’ ear. His palm senses Charles’ warmth and the texture of his skin. He tries to imagine the way Charles is feeling. He feels like he’s caressing a beautiful, cold, and incredibly frail beast who’s mourning the death of its companion. As naturally as breathing, they follow it up with another kiss, rekindling the fire within their bodies while sinking their teeth into each other with deadly slowness. Charles bites down hard on his shoulder. He’s certain that he’s bleeding, but he doesn’t want to stop his boyfriend, as this is the only way for him to really feel Charles’ pain. 

“Charles,” he pulls out of Charles’ body, and pushes back in again. “I probably fell in love with you when I first saw you.”

He hears delicate gasping in response. Charles licks away the traces of blood on his shoulder before kissing his wound and sucking more blood out of it. They’ve had rough sex before, but this is the first time that Charles is actually injuring him. It in fact calms Max down. They are two of a kind. Though they do not feel each other’s pain, they still understand each other. The utmost expression of love between them is to claw at each other’s body and soul until they are both torn apart. 

Charles lies face up on the bed, back arching as he nears his climax, fingers crumpling the pillows into a mess. With satisfaction, Max hears Charles scream uncontrollably, feeling the insides of Charles’ thighs convulse as he ejaculates. Max bends down to flick away the hair covering Charles’ sweat-soaked forehead. He discovers to his horror that Charles’ eyes are out of focus again.

“How is he?”

It’s the third time Max has asked this in five minutes. Pierre answers him patiently, water glass in hand. 

“Charles is asleep. He’ll wake up when he’s rested.”

“I don’t want to do this, but do you think we should tell his trainer or someone else in charge about this?”

“You’re even saying that you don’t want to do this…but Andrea should already know that Charles has not been particularly stable recently. Only the trainers and doctors handle the prescription drugs he’s getting,” Pierre recalls. “Charles has been on some drugs with tranquilizing effects, just temporarily, of course. He said that Seb also saw him experiencing a couple of those flashbacks. They aren’t serious and they usually go away in minutes. But if the situation gets out of hand, his combat fitness will have to be re-evaluated.”

“His consciousness disappeared,” says Max, “how is that not enough cause for concern?”

“I know you care about Charles, but if he’s deemed unfit for combat, where do you think he’ll be sent next?”

Max doesn’t say anything. Pierre sighs.

“He’s forcing himself to stick it out, just like in the old days.”

Both young men fall silent. Charles lies in bed, seemingly restless in his sleep. Max sits down next to the bed and tries to un-furrow Charles’ brows with his hand. 

“…Mm.”

Charles’ eyelashes flutter against his palm.

“Max?”

He has never spoken so softly before in his life. “I’m here. Pierre came, too.”

The French boy waves at them. Charles sits up with Max’s help, leaning most of his weight onto his boyfriend. 

“If you’re going to have flashbacks with this kind of frequency from now on, we’re going to have a real problem,” says Pierre. “You need treatment, Charles.”

“We both know that none of those treatments work,” Charles shakes his head. “Don’t let the doctors use electric shock therapy on me. It won’t help me at all.”

Pierre bites his lips and says, “you’ll have other options. The technology is different now.”

Charles is about to say something when Max suddenly holds him tightly. “He’s saying he doesn’t want it,” Max says to Pierre in a threatening tone. 

“Max.”

Charles gives Max a subtly disapproving look. Max has no choice but to order his lion to retreat to another corner of the room, retracting its fangs. Pierre is almost instinctively fearful of Max’s spirit animal, but the Guide remains patient. Max feels that this is the exact reason that Pierre is such a close friend to Charles. Charles palms his forehead.

“Would you two just listen to me?”

“I’m not convinced by what you’re saying.”

Pierre says. Max puts it even more bluntly. “I agree with Pierre now, my love. You need treatment.”

Charles is angry, but he doesn’t start yelling at them. He simply replies stiffly, “you can choose to believe it or not.”

“You just took too big of a shock. It made you miss Jules a bit too much, that’s all this is.”

Max barely finishes before Pierre slaps him hard on the back. He has no choice but to straighten himself up and pretend that nothing has happened. Pierre asks patiently, “why are you so certain that this is Jules speaking to you?”

“Because I’ve been connected to him ever since I was born,” says Charles. “This is the power of the bond. I’m very sure that he is still somewhere out in this world, trying to send me a certain message.”

“Charles, we were at Jules’ funeral together,” Pierre looks at Charles. “We buried him, just like we buried Anthoine.”

“Sorry.”

Charles lowers his head. Max watches as Pierre walks over to embrace his boyfriend, knowing that he has no place in this discussion anymore. 

“I don’t want to take away your hope or your conviction. But you already have Max now.”

“I know,” Charles pats Pierre on the shoulder, “I’m really sorry about this.”

Max turns his cheek. He supposes that his presence is no longer needed in this whole thing, so he walks out of the room quietly to leave the rest of the night to the two true friends. Of course he doesn’t doubt his place in Charles’ heart, but it does deflate him a bit to realize that he can neither understand nor help with some of Charles’ problems.

Pierre doesn’t stay long. He greets Max briefly and goes back to his own room for the night. Max slips under the blanket and takes Charles into his arms, rubbing his chin against his boyfriend’s shoulder as if to demand attention. 

“I feel guilty,” says Charles, “Pierre is grieving so much more than I am.”

“You do need me and him by your side, though. Just let him help you.”

“Am I being too self-centered?”

“You need to be a bit more self-centered than you are,” Max turns Charles’ face around and kisses him, caressing Charles’ face with his thumb. “You can rely on me, Pierre, or other people. We all want to help you, or at least make sure that you’re not alone. You can’t win this fight on your own.”

“I am stupid.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

Charles buries his face against Max’s chest. Max feels his heart filling with a prickly warmth, like the sensation of a razor blade against his face. 

“If Jules is still alive somewhere out there like you said, will you go look for him?”

“I just hope that he’s doing very well, so that I can also relax and enjoy everything I have.”

“He is,” Max holds his boyfriend tight, “he must be.”

Barely several days pass before new orders arrive. The MSF has been tracking down the main culprit behind the terrorist attacks. Max has heard that Lewis fought this opponent and was seriously injured. He has a feeling that the assailant was probably the one he already knows. At the pre-mission meeting, the battle footage captured through Lewis’ body camera is shown to all the Sentinels, confirming Max’s suspicion. He pokes Charles, who sits in front of him. Charles leans his head over and they start a nonverbal conversation. 

_I know this guy. He’s that Number 93 who attacked us in Azerbaijan._

_Fuck. No wonder even Lewis couldn’t get the better of him. What do you think our chances are?_

_…Hard to say. One-on-one, I wouldn’t bet on any one of us beating him. But there has to be a way._

Charles folds up his arms.

_Daniel’s been looking at us._

Max straightens up to show that he’s paying attention to the meeting. Daniel doesn’t look away, however. Instead, he beams at the two boys.

_Max, you should talk to him later._

_Daniel and I are just friends—_

_He obviously has something he needs to tell you._ Charles doesn’t seem jealous. _Go talk to him._

Max is in fact still a little bit mad about the way Daniel left. He doesn’t know how to be around Daniel. A year before, he admired Daniel and wanted to give himself completely to this man. A year later, he has a boyfriend, and Daniel has chosen to pull himself out of Max’s life. Truth be told, it feels somewhat awkward. Max knows that with their personalities and how well they know each other, they should have no problem remaining friends. It’s probably even the better way to deal with the situation. But he needs a bit more time, and perhaps also the right moment. 

Daniel leans against the wall, waiting for him. Max takes a deep breath, but his first words end up being, “I sent you lots of messages.”

“Sorry,” Daniel smiles, “I think I probably should have replied to at least one of them.”

Max feels irritated and wronged. He can deal with Charles giving him the cold shoulder, but he can’t take it when Daniel does the same. Daniel sighs and opens up his arms. 

“How about a hug?”

Max hugs Daniel, feeling the friendliness and calm emanating from the Guide. He still likes Daniel a lot, and he can even say that he needs Daniel, just like Charles needs Pierre. Part of the reason is that he and Charles are both pure Sentinels, and both lack the soothing power of Guides. The other part is that love has never been the be-all and end-all for either of them. 

“Here, now we’re good,” Daniel pats him on the shoulder. Max tries his best to look positively vicious. “Are you really going to bite me?”

“Depends on how repentant you are.” Max’s lion brandishes its paws behind him.

Daniel begins to laugh, only stopping when Max puffs up his cheeks once again.

“I can give you explanations for everything, but I don’t want to. Neither of us really needs to hear that stuff.”

Max asks, “are you doing okay?”

“To be honest, it’s a bit exhausting, but overall I’m doing alright,” Daniel looks around. No one is watching them. “You?”

“It’s what it is,” Max shrugs and screws open his water bottle. “When both your teammate and your boyfriend are in such bad shape, you can’t really afford to be more depressed than they are.”

“This is a hard time for all of us.”

“What can you tell me?”

Daniel hesitates for a moment and says, “do you know that wanted man?”

“You mean Number 93?”

“Yes.”

“The fact that you’re asking about him means that you already know the answer.”

“So…” Daniel considers his wording carefully, “did you remember something?”

“He’s a psycho killer who went crazy because of all the sicko experiments they did on him, and I’m going to stop this lunatic from threatening the lives of any more of my teammates. That’s all there is to it.”

“Sounds very Verstappen indeed.”

“Thanks,” Max holds up the bottle.

Daniel says, “I want to stop other Number 93s from being created.”

“How?”

“I need proof. Witnesses and physical evidence.”

“…You know there’s no way I can testify,” says Max. “You know very well how involved I and my father were in the plan. I can’t expect to get out of it unscathed, and I’m definitely not going to risk involving my sister.” 

“I won’t ask you to make concessions that you cannot make. But I need to capture Number 93 alive, and I need to ensure that he doesn’t fall into the hands of the Committee.”

“That’s unrealistic. We’ll set aside the question of whether any one of us can manage to beat that cyborg. Even if he surrenders and agrees to testify, who’s going to speak out against the Committee on your beha—” an answer to his own question forms in Max’s mind, “you’re working with that person?”

“The very one you’re thinking of.”

“Fuck. That explains everything,” Max is starting to feel irritated again, “you could have told me sooner.”

“I think now is the best time.”

Max glares at Daniel. “You still see me as a kid.”

“I need your help.”

“Christ,” Max rumples his hair, “I already promised Pierre.”

“You did.”

Daniel doesn’t insist on his request. Max pulls another drink bottle out of the vending machine. Daniel accepts it, playing with the bottle for a bit before saying, “I want to make Anthoine’s death mean something.”

“Why are you always forcing me into these decisions, Daniel?”

Daniel smiles and says, “probably because I have very high expectations of you.”

“I’m just a fucking soldier. My job is to fight.”

“That does make things simple.”

Max slowly crouches down against the wall, burying his face between his knees. Then he looks up. 

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

“This is a request, not an order. I want you to make your choice, and I can promise you that I won’t hate you for it. You’re always going to be my friend, and one of the people I care the most about.” Daniel crouches down like him, taking a drink from his bottle. “It should be snowing where we’re going.”


	33. Final Battle

Max feels his pinky finger twitch with pain. _It’s probably the cold_ , he thinks. _Not really a problem if it doesn’t get in the way of pulling the trigger._ It’s the third day of the hunt. He has ditched his teammates and started exploring the frozen valley on his own. The air is as still as condensed ice, the only sounds being the crunch of boots on thick snow. Every once in a while, a twig snaps under the weight of the snow and sends a non-hibernating animal or two scattering. 

This is where Number 93 is hiding. Radio signals are weak here due to the mountainous terrain and snow cover, so Max’s communication device is only useful in the open areas. He has to return to camp and charge the device every night, which means that during the day, he has to try to cover the largest area possible while keeping the energy expenditure low. He can’t venture too far out, either. He has to rely on his Sentinel senses to unearth clues hidden under the ice and snow. 

The lion keeps patrol close to him. A human figure appears from over the ridge. Max raises his gun immediately, and sees the figure respond by assuming a similar shooting posture. A small feline drops onto the snow, and they both realize whom they’ve run into.

“Max.”

Charles exhales in relief, lowering the gun. Max trudges up to Charles, raising his frosty goggles. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Charles pulls off his balaclava. He can see Charles’ breath and the reddened tip of his nose. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing but snow. Where’s Seb and the rest of your team?”

Charles hesitates for a moment and says, “I don’t know. I lost them this morning.” 

“What the heck.” Max isn’t saying this to blame Charles, but Charles seems to be hiding something, eyes fixated quietly downwards. So Max cups his boyfriend’s face in his hands and says, “let’s team up. I don’t have anyone with me, either.”

Charles leans his cheek against Max’s palm. Max takes it as his cue to kiss his boyfriend. He does so in a very ill-timed moment, bumping their helmets together. 

“Thanks,” says Charles.

“There’s something on your mind.”

“It’s just...I haven’t been in particularly good shape lately,” smiles Charles, “got some feelings I can’t quite name.”

“Are they related to your hallucinations?”

“You know how we tend to rely too much on our Sentinel senses. They sometimes mislead us.”

“I prefer to rely on my intuition,” says Max. “If you’re not certain, you can always leave the judging part to me.”

Charles squeezes his hand and they pat each other on the shoulder. Now it’s Charles’ turn to lead the way. Neither of them knows what lies ahead of them, but Max is willing to let Charles decide. He trusts himself to bring both of them back to camp safely. 

“Hey, Charles. You know what I’ve been thinking lately?”

Charles doesn’t turn around. The black-footed cat runs in front of them, leaving zero footprint on the snow.

“I’m listening.”

“Do you want to get married in the Netherlands?”

“Is this an actual proposal?” Charles chuckles.

“Don’t tell me that you think it’s too early to talk about this.”

“I just think it’s bad luck to talk about getting married when we’re on a mission. Not terribly bad, just a little,” Charles scoops up some snow and puts it in his mouth. “I’d like to, if your dad doesn’t kill me for it. But you should meet my mom and my brothers first. They’re pretty easy to get along with.”

“Let’s do it in Monaco, then. I like the sunshine and the shoreline. And I was planning to move out of my home anyway.”

Charles laughs. “We can only get legally married in the Netherlands, though.”

“To be honest with you, I never thought I’d be even thinking about getting married at twenty-two.”

“Just admit that you’re sweet-talking me, playboy.”

“You’re different, Charles.” Max jogs to catch up, “you know I wasn’t kidding.”

Charles remains silent for a long while. The two of them march on, leaving a meandering trail in the snow. Max feels like he should say something.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” but Charles doesn’t sound not mad, either. Max keeps quiet. He has no idea how he managed to annoy Charles. Their conversation didn’t exactly contain anything that could have offended him. Charles has always been a mysterious and volatile Easter egg to Max; he never knows whether he’s going to get flowers or thorns.

“There’s no need to get nervous, Max. I can smell your anxiety.”

“Charles,” the lion leans itself on Charles’ leg, rubbing against it like a large cat.

“My father passed away two years ago from an illness. Do you know why he was so sick?”

Max shakes his head. 

“Too many drugs, too many injections. Back in his time, the easiest way for a not particularly gifted Sentinel to have a shot at joining organizations like the Militaires Sans Frontieres was to participate in experiments. You never knew which one would transform you into a sensation overnight, though for him, none of them did,” says Charles. “Then my brother was born, but he didn’t inherit my father’s gift. After that, he had me. I was his biggest hope and biggest achievement.”

“I didn’t know…”

“Of course you wouldn’t. I wasn’t going to mention these things to anyone, but you’re not just anyone,” Charles stops in his tracks and turns around to face him. “This is why every time I realize that I’m loving you more and more, I end up hating myself more and more.”

“I don’t understand why you think that way.”

“Because you’re gifted, even though that can be a cursed blessing. Sometimes I really wish I could go back to the past and tell my father that the power he longed for so desperately was never such a great thing to have. But then I realized that he didn’t crave the power itself. He wanted something else. Dignity.”

Max is at a loss again. He has tried hard to understand Charles, to face all the pain and misfortune buried deep inside his beloved’s memories head-on with him. But as it turns out, he hasn’t really managed to understand anything. He knows nothing about the person in front of him. Even the fact that Charles loves him as much as he does Charles only makes him feel more powerless. 

Charles smiles at him, full of pain. 

“He just…just wanted to be treated like a human being. The only path to dignity he knew was to join the Militaires Sans Frontieres. But I couldn’t tell him that none of this meant anything. I could only give him the responses he wanted like a good son was supposed to. Even when I was in excruciating pain during Jules’ nine-month coma, and even when those officials turned down my request to see my Guide one last time, I had to tell him that I would keep fighting. That I would make it into the MSF. That I would earn my place in Team SF.”

Max wants to hold Charles in his arms, but his legs won’t move. Charles’ face is calm, his tone gentle and even. These are just things that come naturally to someone who’s used to enduring enormous pain. 

“Everything you told me…the things that happened to you, they relieved me of my illusions. You may be able to see them in a positive light, but to me they’re simply confirmation of the lies we’ve been fed, and the tip of the iceberg of truth. The past few years have left me with nothing but pain, loathing, and the desire to destroy. It’s not that I want to destroy the organization you serve, or everything that has made our conversation here possible. I’m even grateful that I met you again because of the MSF,” Charles tries hard to smile at him. “I love you, Max. But I want to destroy myself. I can’t help it.”

“Christ, no!” Max dashes forward to pull Charles’ rifle out of his hands, which Charles was pointing at his own jaw. Max holds Charles in his arms as tightly as he can. For the first time in his life, he’s turning cold with fear. Charles, on the other hand, just smiles. 

“If I really wanted to do that, I’d have pulled the trigger five years ago.”

Max does not relax. “Don’t scare me like this.”

Charles breathes quietly in Max’s arms, then puts his arms around Max. 

“…I’m scared too, Max. I fear that I’m going to lose control of myself and actually pull the trigger one day.” 

“I’m with you,” Max pats Charles on the back. “We can find a solution together. Even if we don’t, it’ll be better than you trying to figure it out yourself.”

“…Monaco or the Netherlands?”

“I’m fine with either,” Max starts to laugh. “I prefer both.”

“Stay in my line of sight.”

Lewis mutters, pulling off the safety of his rifle. Daniel rolls his eyes and spreads his palms.

“Come on, are you really going to follow me on my bathroom break?”

The black panther growls at Daniel’s back. The honey badger ignores it, pawing at the snow briefly before returning to its master’s side. Daniel carries on with his dirty stand-up act. “But then again, I guess you can pick up my donger for me if it freezes and falls off. That’s very warm-hearted of you, Lewis.”

Lewis doesn’t like Daniel’s frivolousness, or the ease with which he’s navigating this situation. He has already wandered far away from the main task force to track down Daniel. Within the area he’s covering using his senses, he and Daniel are the only humans with heartbeats. The interference from the weather and the terrain is worse than he thought. To keep tabs on Daniel, he even resorted to some slightly underhanded tactics, copying data from the recorders on Daniel’s equipment. Early this morning, he found that Daniel had left his team behind to advance towards a certain destination, taking rather purposeful detours along the way. 

Lewis asks, “where are you going?”

“To carry out my mission,” Daniel breathes out a white cloud from under his mask, his smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes, “same as you.”

“What exactly are you plotting?”

“If I don’t say anything, will you shoot?”

Lewis narrows his eyes slightly. “I have the authority to interrogate a criminal suspect.”

Daniel looks a bit resigned, but not exactly cornered. 

“I’m not sure that this is a good time to tell you. Feel free to come with me, though. I think I will probably need your help.”

“You don’t get to choose,” Lewis keeps his hands on the gun, “and I’m not going to help you.”

Daniel doesn’t seem troubled at all. 

“I believe that you’re a good person, Lewis. Don’t let me down.”

With that, Daniel climbs on top of a giant boulder, closing his eyes as if looking for a certain signal. “Give me a hint…give me a hint…”

He opens his eyes and gazes into depths of the valley.

“There you are.”

Charles keeps walking. They climb over hilltops and stride over frozen streams, circling fallen logs along the way until snowflakes begin to fall in the valley again. 

“Charles!” Max shouts, “we may have gone too far! We need to leave enough battery for the return trip to camp!”

Charles is still pushing forward, as if he knows that what he seeks lies ahead of him. Max’s intuition tells him that something unpleasant is about to happen if they keep going, but a different urge compels him to follow Charles so that he can see what Charles has been looking at. 

_If we’re unable to return to camp, I’ll fire off a signal flare at the sky and our teams will come looking for us._ Max finds a way to reassure himself. Compared to enduring one frigid night outside, he’s much less willing to let Charles venture into danger all by himself. 

“Charles!” he shouts again, “talk to me!”

The warrior walking rapidly in front of him finally comes to a stop. Max walks up to Charles and realizes how much more exhausted Charles looks compared to him. 

“Is something wrong with your equipment?” Max is about to call up the system’s diagnostic interface when Charles pushes his palm down. Charles’ forehead is soaked in sweat, his face ghastly pale. 

“You need rest,” Max tries to persuade him. “You’re in no shape to fight. You’ll have trouble even walking back to camp.”

“I can’t go back,” insists Charles. “I made it here…I’m not going back.”

Max begins to weigh the possibility of knocking Charles unconscious and dragging him back to camp. As he does, he notices a few red spots between the nose and mouth of Charles’ white balaclava. At first he thinks it’s a trick of his eyes, but the spots soon expand and grow into a large patch of red. 

“…Your nose is bleeding.”

Charles pulls off his balaclava, wiping his nose with his finger. Half of his face is now smeared in blood. Max looks at him in alarm as Charles raises his gaze, relentless and determined, like a beast cornered in its cage. 

Max immediately moves to grab Charles, but it’s too late. Charles takes advantage of their closeness to tackle Max to the ground. He puts one foot down on the transmission board on Max’s back, prompting Max’s armored exoskeleton to go into preservation mode. He then turns around and runs off. It takes Max several seconds to pick himself back up. He curses the electronic system for its nonsensical design as he runs after Charles with everything he’s got. They barely make it several hundred meters out before Charles collapses abruptly to the ground and goes completely still. Max curses again and marches on, but his Sentinel senses suddenly sound the alarm. 

He immediately takes evasive action, rolling himself into the snow. The bullet soars over him, hitting the fir trees in the distance and knocking some snow to the ground. The sniper is not in a hurry to take his life, but as soon as he raises his rifle to return fire, another bullet soars warningly over his head. 

Charles pulls himself to his feet again, limping forward. Max takes one look at Charles and decides to trust his life to the bullet-proofness of his equipment, cranking it up to eleven before he starts running towards Charles. The bullets still purposefully avoid hitting his vital areas, always narrowly grazing him or bouncing off the metal exterior of his exoskeleton. Max returns fire in the direction the bullets are coming from, but he doesn’t count on them hitting his opponent. 

The sniper’s patience seems to finally run out as the next bullet hits the transmission shaft connector in Max’s knee joint with precision. Max yelps angrily as he falls to the ground with a thud. Then he realizes that there is still something he can do. He aims his gun at Charles’ back. 

No matter what it takes, he has to take Charles back with him.

A foot steps on the barrel of his gun, snapping it in half. Max slowly looks up at the army boots and snow camouflage uniform, until he comes face to face with the smiling devil again. 

“Sorry, Max.”

Number 93 bends over and pulls Max’s transmitter out of the back of his neck despite his pained screams. 

“It’s going to be his fight from now on. Neither you nor I can be allowed to intervene.”

Lewis’ patience is being replaced with renewed suspicion. Daniel walks on, stopping frequently and leading them deeper into the mountainous terrain where no trace of human activity can be detected. Lewis has the black panther track the honey badger as closely as it can, while he himself keeps a tighter grip on his gun.

“Dude, I’m not trying to assassinate you,” teases Daniel. 

“You wouldn’t be likely to succeed if you tried,” says Lewis.

“I’d give it a 60-40 chance. You got the better equipment, but your injury’s not fully healed, so it’s 60 for me and 40 for you,” he can’t quite tell how much of a joke Daniel intends this to be. Daniel’s next sentence is in a serious tone, though. “You’re still in pain, Lewis.”

“I can pull the trigger on you all the same.”

“I’m talking about your spirit,” Daniel stops again, “we Guides are quick to smell pain. Your spirit has been screaming and howling for the past four years. Even with your spiritual barrier, which is impeccable to the point of ridiculousness, I can still hear you calling out in pain. You can’t deny that you’re drawn to Guides, yet at the same time you are unable to get the help you need from any Guide. It beggars my mind that you’ve been able to persevere and achieve what you have. My hat’s off to you in that particular respect.”

“You talk exactly like him now, Daniel. What else did you learn from him?”

“Nico doesn’t actually expect you to forgive him,” Daniel finds himself a protruding rock face and sits down. “I don’t know why you silenced Nico through spiritual invasion, but you didn’t stop him from telling me the truth.”

“What truth?” says Lewis, voice icy. 

Daniel sighs.

“A dead Sentinel. Perhaps once the most special and powerful Guide the world has ever seen. He has no real future to speak of now, though.”

“Fuck you!” Max yells, struggling. “Let go of me!”

Number 93 patiently discards every weapon on Max’s body before tying his hands up with the gun strap. He carries Max to the crest of the hill like a bag of luggage. From the open hill, Max sees Charles stumbling forward, a nondescript figure waiting for him at the other end of the woods. 

Max quickly extends the tendrils of his awareness. He examines the mysterious figure, but doesn’t register any human warmth or heartbeat coming from it. All he feels is icy coldness like the snow around them, just like how he also wasn’t able to pinpoint Number 93’s location in their crossfire exchange. 

“Charles! Charles!” roars Max, “don’t go—“

Without any hesitation, Number 93 plunges Max’s face into the snowy ground before pulling him out again. Every time Max tries to shout, Number 93 repeats these moves until Max stops and glares at him instead, pissed. 

Number 93 looks like he’s not enjoying it particularly himself. 

“I’m very sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything I did to you.”

“Don’t ever think all of your killings will be forgotten with that half-hearted apology. What is this? A confession? Sorry, but I’m not a priest. I can only baptize you with bullets and daggers,” Max spits at Number 93. “Die, freak.”

“Many people called me that,” says Number 93, calm. 

“I guess most people see things for what they are.”

“I got called that the most in school,” Number 93 smiles. “Back then I didn’t know that not everyone heard or saw the same things as I did. The truth hurts, and I always saw the truth. So they called me a freak. They threw balls of paper and bits of chalk at me until I didn’t have to go to school anymore.”

“I’m not interested in the childhood stories of a criminal who killed my teammate.” Max tries to chafe the strap restraining his wrists so that he can break it. 

For the first time, Number 93 has a gloomy look on his face, though just for a brief second.

“That young man’s death was not part of my plan, though you still have more than enough reasons to hate me.”

“Then tell me.”

When Max does look at Number 93 closely, he does not seem like a terrorist who has taken countless lives. His gaze is clear-eyed and his spiritual world is as pristine as glass. No matter what color he is drenched in, the essence about him seems to resist change. It takes Max no effort at all to enter Number 93’s spiritual world, and Number 93 puts up no defense. Blue water surrounds Max. He turns around to see two boys in tank tops romping about on the beach.

“…I found an opening,” Number 93 is still talking, but Max suddenly realizes something horrific. 

“…You have no spiritual barrier,” Max’s brain is refusing to register the truth he just unearthed, “any Sentinel can enter your spiritual world and you won’t even know it.”

Number 93 chuckles. “Yes. Welcome to my consciousness.”

“Why?” Max isn’t even sure he wants to hear the answer. 

“Because I can’t feel anything,” says Number 93. “I can’t hear, see, taste, smell, touch, or feel pain. I’ve never been able to since I was born. My Sentinel senses are the only way for me to perceive the world. That’s why my consciousness is open to all things at all times.”

“That’s how you survived all your implants and transformations,” Max deduces. “You wouldn’t have collapsed from the sensory overload. You’re basically a creature of pure will.”

“Hmm. That has a nice ring to it,” smiles Number 93, “but I need to explain something more important first. I decided to break out with Number 17, but I had to make sure that my father got out safely. My best option was to have him evacuate with the other hostages under the protection of the MSF. I used your people as cover…I was confident that the SSG wouldn’t risk an all-out war with the MSF, but I had no idea that they would actually kill a reserve Sentinel just to silence him after he noticed Number 17.”

“But what could Anthoine possibly have known?” Max is unconvinced.

“I can’t answer you that, but it was most likely because he recognized Number 17.”

“Who exactly is Number 17?”

Number 93 looks at the young man who trudges on alone in the snow.

“Charles knows the answer.”

Charles has long since lost track of the time. He has little awareness left of where he is. Only the voice that keeps calling out to him draws him forward like a light at the end of the tunnel. He can’t see ahead of him or hear around him. But he doesn’t feel fear — not so much fear as excruciating pain, the kind only experienced by a person who has long since given up hope now finding himself still grasping onto some, even if it promises to kill him. 

“…Jules.”

He finally walks up to the figure he’s familiar with. Charles has always known who’s been calling out to him. The only purpose for this trip has been to reunite him with this person. He wipes the snow away from the glass visor, expecting a familiar face but only seeing a multitude of intricate machinery submerged in liquid. 

Charles wants to laugh, his tears slowly freezing up on his face. He presses his hand against the figure’s chest, but all he feels is the electricity and nutritional liquid circulating within it. 

“I thought you were still alive. I felt that if you were, my pain would have meant something,” Charles puts his hand on Number 17’s shoulder, lowering his head. “I really, really miss you…and everything you gave me. As my mentor, as my friend, and as my Guide.”

All the happiness, reassurance and encouragement, as well as all the sadness, fear and pain. All along, he’s been trying to convince himself to accept that Jules has departed this world. At the same time, though, he’s also realizing that no one could ever replace Jules. He’s just been pretending that he has started a new life. 

“What do you want?” asks Charles, “why did you call me here?”

The only sound that answers him is the incessant wind over the valley. He takes several steps back, his back bumping into the trunk of a tree. He lets himself collapse onto the ground, gazing back at the machine.

“It hasn’t been easy after you left,” says Charles, “I finally joined the MSF, taking the seat that was meant to be yours. But the war continued, as did the injuries and deaths. Then we lost Anthoine as well. We Sentinels are kept like hounds. All those high-ranking officials care about is how many kills we bring home. They don’t give a damn about our lives. But some good things did happen.”

Charles tries hard to smile. “I have friends who care about me, and I’ve met someone very special. You remember that Max I talked to you about, the one who fought me at the Sentinel Institute? He’s my boyfriend now. My God, even now I still can’t believe it. I’m really happy…really happy. But still I miss you so much. I can’t find a way to really live in the present, Jules. It’s like I’m a plant rooted in the past, and no matter how I grow myself towards the sun, I end up returning myself to the earth.”

He falls silent for a moment, coming to his decision. 

“I’m going to take you back.”

Charles extends his hand toward Number 17. He extends the tendrils of his awareness at the same time. He’s going to try to persuade Number 17 through spiritual invasion. If milder tactics don’t work, he’s even prepared to take the machine apart without a moment’s hesitation. 

A few seconds later, his vision goes dark and he falls on his knees in the snow. He’s drenched in cold sweat as if he’s being whipped.

“…I can’t accept this,” Charles repeats, full of despair and anger, “I can’t accept this! Why do I have to be the one to kill you? Why are you making me go through this pain again? Do you hate me? Tell me! Do you hate me? Is it because I turned off your life support? Is it because I never visited you during those nine months? Do you think I wanted that? I didn’t have any power to choose! I didn’t, my father didn’t, my brother didn’t, and even your family didn’t. Do you think they could have even uttered a word of protest against the MSF and the Committee? We were all fooled. Whether we’re killing or getting killed in the war, we’re just going to be discarded like chips in a game. Do you think that I don’t know this? How long are you going to keep tormenting me? Until I’m dead? Tell me! When are you going to be satisfied?”

He pants violently, the frigid air threatening to tear his lungs apart. The wind is picking up. Large snowflakes pile themselves up on Charles and Number 17, soon turning their bodies half-white. He digs his hand into the snow, pulling some dried grass out from underneath. 

“I don’t want to do this.”

“If destroying Number 17 is the only way to truly put him to rest, like you said…” Max is still failing to make even the slightest dent in the strap, “then why can’t you do it yourself? You’re obviously more powerful than all of us.”

Number 93 shakes his head. “It has nothing to do with power. I’ve obviously already proven myself no match for Number 17. It’s because of Number 17’s influence that I’m here talking to you in the first place. Number 17 is a weapon designed to invade the consciousness of Sentinels. The reason you lost control of yourself in Azerbaijan was also because of Number 17.”

“That battle…”

“It was the first deployment of Number 17 in combat,” says Number 93. “The purposes were to collect data and observe the potential effect of other variables — namely Charles — on Number 17. I deduced the latter when Number 17 took me into his spiritual world. I think he…remembered things, after that battle.”

Number 93 spreads out his palms. “So, obviously, neither you nor I will be able to do anything if Number 17’s defense mechanism is triggered.”

“How about Charles, then?” Max decides to keep asking every question he has. “Why did you let Charles get close to him, and why did you make it a point to warn me about it at the hearing? Even if Jules was Charles’ godfather and Guide, that machine is technically no longer the person Charles used to know. Any influence it has is more like unnatural phenomena…”

“If an explanation is what it takes to make you stop struggling, I’d be glad to give it,” Number 93 tightens the strap some more, and Max closes his eyes furiously. “It’s actually very simple. Number 17 wants to be destroyed by Charles.”

Max falls quiet for a moment and says, “Charles can’t do it alone.”

“Have some faith in your boyfriend.”

“I’m not doubting his abilities, but no one is capable of facing something like this alone,” Max raises his chin, indicating to Number 93 that he should watch what Charles is doing. “We would not be spending so much time here if he were the type who’s able to make up his mind about killing the person most important to him with his own two hands. You’re ruthless and decisive for sure, but you simply don’t know Charles like I do. He needs some pushing.”

Number 93’s expression seems to waver. 

“Did I manage to persuade you?”

“Perhaps,” Number 93 picks Max up again. “I should warn you, though. If you try to do anything that gets in the way of Charles shutting Number 17 down, Number 17 could make you lose control again even if I don’t kill you first. No one is going to like that.”

“I know. I won’t step out of line.”

Charles looks up. He hears people approaching him and Max calling out his name. Max drags his heavy armor with him, hands at his back. He’s being pushed forward by a soldier with a small stature. Charles raises his gun instantly, and Max hastens to calm him down. 

“Relax! Charles, I’m okay,” Max struggles hard, and Number 93 reluctantly undoes the strap that’s been keeping his hands tied. Max quickly rushes towards Charles, pulling his boyfriend into his arms. 

“Max, I…”

“Don’t talk,” Max pats him on the back, “I know what happened. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Charles grasps tightly onto his back. “I don’t want to…look, he’s not aggressive at all. He even talks to me—“

“I don’t think Number 17 is the person you used to know, young man,” says Number 93. “Just put him out of his misery.”

The black-footed cat on Charles’ shoulder hisses threateningly, its hairs bristling. 

“Give me one reason not to kill you, murderer.”

He loads his gun. Number 93 looks impatient. 

“I don’t want to fight you right now. And you can’t kill me, anyway.”

“We can deal with this later,” Max puts himself between the hissing cat and the displeased Number 93. “Charles, you need to say goodbye.”

“There has to be a way to take him with us!” Charles is persistent, “Jules is still here…inside it. You can’t make me kill him again.”

“Jules is not here anymore,” Max says patiently. 

“What about Number 93, then? What is he? Isn’t he also a freak in a metal shell? Why should he live? Just because he looks more human, and is more powerful? Whereas Jules should be destroyed?”

Max is about to say more, but Number 93’s patience is at its limit.

“Charles Leclerc, this is not a friendly reminder. This is a threat,” Number 93 raises his gun. “There are people moving in our direction. You don’t have much time to whine. If you hand Number 17 over to the MSF, those bastards are only going to be overjoyed, and they’ll continue to research ways to make Sentinels into killing machines. As for you and Max, you’ll be silenced like that hapless young man was. I don’t care if you believe it or not, but I need you to understand something. If you don’t destroy Number 17 right now, I’m going to kill each and every one of your teammates, starting with the one in front of you.”

Number 93 points his loaded gun at Max’s head. “Max, talk some sense into your boyfriend.”

Max bites his lips resentfully. He grabs Charles’ wrist. “I don’t need you to worry about my safety, but what Number 93 is saying is the fucking truth. You have to put Jules to rest.”

Like a feline on a hunt, Charles’ eyes narrow dangerously once again. He feels the texture of his weapon, the shape of the space around him, and even the weight of the snowflakes on his shoulders. Jules is standing with him. He is certain about that. As soon as he raises his hand, Number 93 pulls the trigger. The bullet grazes Max’s cheek and leaves a bloody cut. 

Charles immediately fires a dozen shots at Number 93 until Max stops him. Number 93 doesn’t fight back. Instead, he kneels down in the snow and covers his eyes, swearing in a language neither of them understands.

“…Fuck! I can’t see!”

“I blocked your vision,” it’s now Charles’ turn to point his gun at Number 93. “Jules chose me.”

“You’re putting yourself in a very dangerous position, young man.” Number 93’s clothes are covered in bullet holes, but he’s not actually injured. “What are you going to do next? Go on the run with Number 17 with the MSF and the SSG both hunting you down? You can’t outrun them. Even I’m not sure that I can survive another one of their hunter squads. How many days do you think you’ll be able to hang on for? Can you even make it out of this valley alive?”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do about Jules!”

Charles’ furious roar makes Max freeze, too. He doesn’t even take another look at Max before he walks straight up to Number 17 and says in a soft voice, “we’re going home.”

Charles then grabs Number 17’s wrist, trying to drag Number 17 with him. Max doesn’t know whether to stop him or not, because Number 17 remains glued to the spot and Charles’ efforts soon prove futile. Even without his vision, Number 93 realizes what is happening. 

“Max, you’d better stop your boyfriend. If he triggers Number 17’s defense mechanism, we’re all going to—“

It’s too late. Charles, who has let his emotions take over him, wants to knock Number 17 out by force. But as soon as his killing intent forms, he suddenly feels Number 17’s hands around his neck. 

“Charles—!”

Max’s scream echoes within the valley. 

Charles starts to feel dizzy from the lack of oxygen. The only thing that remains in his sight is the cold, unfeeling machine in front of him. The signal under the glass turns bright green from a pulsating red. Something is being activated. Suddenly, Number 17 releases his grip on Charles, letting him fall to the ground. Charles begins to wail, moan and scream. He pulls on his hair, curling up into a ball, crying his heart out until his voice is hoarse and his nose starts to bleed again. This time, he finally feels with undeniable clarity how the bullets penetrated his body, how the icy drug injections gradually killed off his muscles, how the lasers destroyed his memories and feelings, and how he was eventually transplanted inside this machine as no more than a mere shell of will, a desire to live. 

Except that all this happened to another person. The person he cared more about than anyone else in the world. 

“…How could they do this to you…”

He slowly sits up, wiping away his tears and the blood from his nose. 

_What should I do?_

Charles sits in the snow, facing the silent machine. 

_Dad. Lorenzo. Jules. Tell me what to do._

Max and Number 93 watch him intently from mere steps away. 

“…I get it,” no words in the world can describe the way Charles is feeling right now. “I get why I want to destroy myself, and why I’ve been unable to accept anyone else into my spiritual world — it’s because that’s what you want. You want to rest in peace. You want to be destroyed. You need someone whose spirit you cannot break to put an end to your nightmare.”

Charles closes his eyes.

“I’ll do it. I’m sorry.”


	34. Encore

“He’s asleep.”

Max looks at the person in his arms. There are still dried blood and tear marks on Charles’ face. He can only hold Charles tighter. Number 93 finishes inspecting Number 17’s remains, pulling out a luminescent jar from where the chest used to be. Max immediately realizes what it is. 

Number 93 thinks for a moment before putting the jar in Max’s hands. 

“Don’t let anyone else see it.”

“Charles and I will bury him,” Max accepts it unhesitatingly, then grabs Number 93’s hand. “Wait. I still don’t have your name.”

“Is that important?”

“I need to know what to put on your tombstone,” says Max. “although today I’ll need to take care of Charles first.”

“I can’t let you kill me,” smiles Number 93, “because my life is connected to someone else’s…if I die, he won’t survive, either. But you can call me Marc.”

“Marc,” repeats Max, “I won’t let you get away from me next time, Marc.”

Number 93 pulls his hand back. “I need to go. I hope I never see you again, Max.”

Max manages to plug his transmitter back in despite the pain. He keeps walking with Charles until the night falls. There is a shelter he found just a couple of days ago, a wooden hut sitting next to the frozen lake. Perhaps the ranger used to live here. He has Charles lie down on the bed. After lighting a fire and boiling some water, he discovers that Charles is already awake. Charles sits on the side of the bed, hugging his knees and watching Max tend to the chores. 

“Good evening,” Max sets the kettle down on the side of the bed, “I got something for you.”

He pulls the jar out of his backpack and hands it to Charles. Its luminescent light falls into Charles’ eyes like non-melting snow. 

“We can’t let him sleep in there,” says Charles. 

So Max takes some time to find a wooden storage box. They pour the lifeless matter into it from the jar. They then place the box in the fire, watching as it blackens and burns, eventually turning into glowing ash. 

“Is this the end?” asks Max.

“Yes. This is the end.”

He embraces Charles from behind, feeling his lover’s warmth and touch. Charles turns around to kiss him. It is not a sensual kiss; they’re simply confirming the way they’re feeling and comforting each other. 

“Can I enter your spiritual world?” asks Max.

Charles smiles and kisses Max’s lips again.

“Let’s try.”

Looking at the humanoid remains at his feet, Lewis is finally beginning to believe that Daniel wasn’t lying. 

“So…it’s true that Plan Cradle has been conducting illegal experiments on humans? And Nico left the MSF to look for a way to expose them?” 

“This is irrefutable,” Daniel picks up a lifeless arm, “these plus your testimony would be more than enough to establish a chain of evidence. The Committee will have no choice but to abolish the Plan.”

“Why didn’t he tell me the truth?” Lewis is still having a hard time accepting it. “I…I wasn’t…I had no idea what he was doing. I would never have…”

Daniel sighs.

“Isn’t it obvious? He didn’t want to drag you into it.”

“I’m not that frail!”

“It’s because you are the perfect model Sentinel,” says Daniel evenly. “That perfection is what’s going to make the MSF think twice before doing anything to you. It’ll also be the best weapon you can ask for in a counterattack. When you choose to speak up, the entire world, or at least every person who’s ever been inspired by your strength and righteousness, will stand with you. They’ll fight with you. That’s why I need your help now, Lewis. I need you to take the evidence out of this valley and deliver it to the doorsteps of the Sentinel Academy.”

Lewis doesn’t speak.

“I know you’re a good person.”

“Fuck,” says Lewis, “you better shut up now. I need to figure out how to get us a helicopter in here.”

_A year later, Germany_

  
Sebastian finds his seat in the opera box. He has a view of the best audience seats down below, where a pregnant lady sits next to her husband. He doesn’t watch them for long, as it’s impolite to spy on the lives of others. He adjusts himself in the chair, opening the program booklet. He senses someone sitting down behind him. 

“They’re safe,” whispers Nico Rosberg, “your family, too.”

“Thanks for the ticket,” Seb holds up the stub, “and for everything you’ve done.”

“Thanks for providing all the information and assistance despite the pressure and the threats you were receiving.” 

Seb doesn’t seem to think much of it. “My situation wasn’t going to improve whether I helped you or not. Why not do something that would at least piss off my superiors a little?”

“You know, I can help you find something if you…”

“I’ve already been discharged from the team,” Seb shrugs, “so I’m taking a vacation. Maybe farming is more my thing. But if I want to keep fighting, I’ll still be able to find somewhere to do it, right?”

Nico pats the back of Seb’s chair. He leaves the box as the music starts. The lights slowly dim, and Seb starts focusing his attention on the stage, immersing himself in the show. 

It’s going to be a great one. 

  
**The End**


End file.
